Moments Of Redemption
by Shinigami no Seishi
Summary: Sometimes the ghosts and demons of war are not just metaphorical.  Tantei and Pilots team up to stop a ghost story from devouring the world.  Oh, and Kurama makes eyes at Heero. [YYHGW crossover]
1. Reminiscing in Blue

**Rating:** T for Teen, because, hell, if you can handle The Grudge, this should be a piece of cake

**Warnings:** crossover, creepy-crawlies, gore, boylove and Yuusuke's usual potty mouth

**Pairing:** Kurama x Heero Yuy; yeah, you read that right. And then various other hintings. In my head, they're ALL pretty much sleeping together, but not much of that makes it to the page.

**Summary:** Sometimes the ghosts and demons of war are not just metaphorical. Tantei and Pilots team up to stop a ghost story from devouring the world. Oh, and Kurama makes eyes at Heero.

**Authors' Note(s):** Writing _Gundam Wing_ doesn't come easily to me, but I think I managed to keep the pilots in character for the most part. Rabid Gundam Wing fans feel free to nit-pick, and I'll take suggestions into consideration. This was written for the 30 Kisses community challenge at livejournal. This is Theme #15 - perfect blue

Blue was the new black. Or was it the new pink? Or was pink the new gray? It was so difficult to keep track. Whatever it was, it meant that almost everyone at the formal dinner party was wearing some shade of blue. And not dark jewel tones, no. This year was all about soft, pale colors, like the kind one might find in a baby's nursery.

Hiei would have looked good in the ice blue that seemed most prevalent throughout the room, the color of moonlight on snow. It was wintry to match his personality. Second runner up in popularity was a vibrant light blue, like the color of Yuusuke's ki. Yuusuke could wear blue well, in tints like the hottest part of the flame, to match his temper and underlying intensity.

Kuwabara too, Kurama thought with a touch of sadness. In Kurama's mind's eye, Kuwabara would perpetually be clothed in his dark blue school uniform, gold buttons and starched Mandarin collar to set off the messy orange hair and the wide grin.

But Kurama didn't look good in blue, in any shade, though he might have been able to manage a navy or a sapphire.

Why couldn't the powers of fashion have chosen a nice green for the new fad?

He _liked_ greens. He wore greens with finesse. No matter what--and despite all logic or knowledge of color scheme--they never clashed with his deep red hair, and they always brought out the color of his eyes.

Well, Kurama thought after a moment, green probably wasn't a very popular color right now, here in the careful calm of traumatized post-war Earth. Anything that even hinted at _military_ was frowned upon in this Age of Peace (the random capitalization of this in newspapers never failed to amuse him). That included, he supposed, the subdued olive and dark navy of the uniforms worn by the discrete Preventer security around the room. He eyed the nearest one as he sipped his champagne.

Surprisingly young, this small, fierce-eyed protector, wearing a uniform that must have been custom tailored, unless child-soldiers were common enough to warrant keeping that size in stock. Compact build, hidden under the formal, straight-line cut of the cloth, caught somewhere between teenager and adult. Chocolate-colored hair more ragged than usual military, bangs falling into eyes that were too far away for Kurama to catch their color.

Kurama didn't know whether to be intrigued or just on the cynical side of melancholy when he noticed three more adolescent Preventers stationed around the room--one at the north exit, the other at the south and the third in the mezzanine. Perhaps child-soldiers _were_ more common than Kurama had realized.

Or maybe he was just old. Yuusuke and Kuwabara had barely been fourteen when they'd been recruited into the deadly-frantic life of a Reikai Tantei, and Kurama hadn't even blinked then. How many years ago had that been?

….how many _centuries_ ago?

Kurama sipped more champagne and felt the weight of years settle on his shoulders, making the conversation around him seem even more asinine.

Sometimes it truly…how would Yuusuke have put it? It truly sucked to be stuck looking perpetually eighteen, because that meant many people at these high-end parties he found himself trapped in throughout the centuries felt the need to speak to him about grown-up topics in an overly simplified way. Teenagers were, after all, _like_ adults, but stupid with hormones and lack of experience.

Or maybe, that was just due to the self-image he'd cultivated for himself these last few years.

After all, no one spoke to Relena Darlian or Quatre Raberba Winner like they were idiots, and they were a few years younger than he looked.

They also appeared poised and at ease surrounded by politicians, most of whom were twice their combined ages. Kurama was edgy. He didn't have to be, but that was the personality he'd cultivated. This black-tie occasion wasn't really something that interested him, not this decade.

Actually, human politics tended to bore him or wear him out in turns anyway. Demon politics tended to be messy, bloody and much more violent, or exceedingly complicated and drawn out, like a thousand-year-long game of Go on an infinite board. Either way, it was a bit more interesting than this silly get-together of elegant fashions, mild colors and solemn faces.

He was here because his publicist was constantly looking for the next New Thing. And, it appeared, the next New Thing in the Age of Peace was for celebrities to become active participants in the political scene, promoting Pacifism and Good Will Toward All People…

Kurama, for his part, was getting really tired of all the random capitalization flying around.

Because political activism was "in" these days, he was just another pretty face in the crowd, surrounded by other people whose fame, while not as intense (he was the newest hot young thing, or so he'd been told by a teen magazine reporter who'd interviewed him), was more firmly established. Kurama, himself, had no intension of staying in the spotlight long enough for the gaudiness of his celebrity to settle into something more dignified. He'd only chosen this career because of Yuusuke.

Stupid Yuusuke and his stupid bets. Stupid Kurama for being bored enough to take him up on it.

The champagne--which was undoubtedly expensive--was getting flat. He set it on a passing server's tray, and declined an offer of another glass.

Kurama realized he was tired. Not even the languid, low-key amusement he usually found in watching humans waltz around each other in intricate dances of etiquette kept him interested. He wondered if he could cut out now without being too much in suspect. He darted a look around the room, searching out the most surreptitious exit.

There was a stir on the edge of his vision, a slick-slide of darkness, skirting through the crowd. It was a type of movement he recognized instinctively--inhuman, sentient in its small hesitations, tiny pauses. Kurama focused, feeling a chill trickle down his spine, senses coming awake.

It had been a while since he'd been an active member of the Reikai Tantei, but he should not have been caught so unawares. How had it come so close without his noticing?

Of course, "close" was at the other end of the seventy-foot long ballroom. The thing was hunting, but Kurama didn't think he was the target. He broke from the group of tittering twenty-somethings he'd been standing with and circled slowly, casually, trying to watch where it went, predict where it was going. He couldn't see it in any detail--it wouldn't solidify. Just clung to what shadows it could find, like an oil patch with intelligence and intent.

Kurama was fairly powerful, as demons went, even if he preferred his less-powerful human form. There wasn't much he needed to fear nowadays. Besides, the party had been particularly dull, and this promised at least some entertainment.

He let his ki spike, like sending up a flare, a blatant _here I am_ to anything sensitive enough to notice.

Over in the gaggle of admirers surrounding Winner and Darlian, a white-blond head turned sharply in his direction. Kurama had moved close enough in his circling to see wide, sky blue eyes settle on him unerringly.

Interesting.

He tucked that bit of information away and focused on his original purpose. The thing had spasmed and shivered and faded when Kurama provoked it, but it wasn't gone. He searched the room with his eyes, tagging corners and clusters of people, seeing nothing. Long-dormant ki uncurled like adrenaline under his skin.

Where? Where was it?

Cold malevolence hit him, like a pressure impact between his shoulder blades, and he gasped, stumbling forward. The world bled out, iced over, colors paling, sounds muffled and growing more distant. Kurama couldn't breathe, alien anger and rage like frigid waves of the ocean, pulses that threatened to knock him over, suck him under.

He caught himself against something hard, hoped it was solid enough to hold him. He didn't want to cause a scene by collapsing, if he could just get his breath back--

"Sir, are you alright?" The voice was young, clipped, and precise--military.

Kurama looked up, realized he'd stumbled into a _someone_, not a something. The crazily spinning world caught and held in a steady pair of deep blue eyes. Kurama found himself staring and forced himself to straighten, but he didn't look away.

"Sir?" There was a touch of impatience in the voice now. Kurama realized it was the child-soldier in front of him, the one with chocolate brown hair, bangs too long, shadowing an intense gaze.

"Er…fine," Kurama said. "I'm fine."

He was still freezing cold, and couldn't stop shaking, but he managed to stand stubbornly on his own, trying not to display any more suspicious behavior as he held eye contact and stretched out his other senses, searching, hunting…

_That wasn't a demon. What was that?_

Blue eyes flinched to one side, focusing over Kurama's shoulder and froze. The young Preventer's body coiled with sudden tension, and that was all the warning Kurama got before a hand grabbed his throat, jerked him backward, up against a solid chest.

Guttural voice in his ear--German, not demonic. Out of the corner of his eye, the gleam of a weapon--gunmetal blue, and the soft kiss of a barrel touching his temple.

That's when the screaming started.


	2. Falls the Shadow

**Notes: **This storyline is written for the 30 Kisses challenge. This is #6 - the space between dream and reality

Heero didn't know how it had happened. One gunman, dressed in a White Fang uniform, was holding a civilian hostage, shouting at Heero in German. Heero didn't know much of the language, but he knew that the man was demanding Heero disarm himself. The man also wanted to know where the others were.

_Others?_

No, it didn't matter. What mattered was the hostage, and the civilians. The gun and the shouting had panicked the crowd. Heero was afraid the noise and chaos would panic the gunman as well, make him start shooting randomly. He kept his movements slow and deliberate as he put the gun on the floor and slid it away.

Adrenaline was a controlled pulse of electric energy through him, battle-ready awareness a state of awake that Heero never fully used in civilian situations. The seconds slowed as his internal clock sped up, his eyes taking in details, categorized them, reacting and planning accordingly within the space of a few rapid heartbeats. Heero darted a look over the gunman's shoulder.

_Trowa on the mezzanine. Can he get a clear shot?_

No, the angle was wrong; he'd hit the hostage. The other Preventers were clearing the room, covering the VIPs. He could trust Wufei and Duo to handle things. They were talking back and forth in clipped code phrases, filtered into his left ear though his earpiece. He could trust Quatre and Relena to keep people organized once they were out of the room.

The hostage--

_Who was it? Why had the gunman grabbed him?_

Heero ran the young, pale face through the images he'd glanced over of all the guests, finding and matching it with a profile.

Minamino Shuichi, 18, international singer/songwriter. Not political affiliations. Why--? 

Perhaps he'd just been convenient, close enough to grab and slender enough to haul around.

_But how did someone in full White Fang uniform slip in unnoticed? Where is the security breach? Did he have allies?_

Was he…even White Fang?

Heero knelt slowly, lifting his hands to clasp them behind his head. His concentration was focused so sharply on the gunman, waiting for that slight flaw in his movement that would give either him or Trowa a chance that he nearly unbalanced when the gunman seemed to…glitch.

And he wasn't wearing White Fang attire, but an Alliance uniform, wing pin on the hat marking him a pilot.

And he was shouting…in English.

"Where are the others? We will find you! We will hunt all of you down!" 

Heero noted the "we."

The lights flickered out briefly.

In that half-heartbeat of darkness, Minamino Shuichi slipped the gunman's grasp, dropped his weight and hit the floor.

Now, Trowa! 

The bullet from Trowa's rifle smashed through the gunman's head.

Heero lunged, grabbed his Glock in one hand and the hostage in the other, and yanked him toward the nearest exit. The Preventers were fast and efficient, almost everyone was already out of the room.

A bullet clipped his shoulder, spun him around, his gun was up and taking aim immediately…

Pointing at the gunman who had _not fallen over_. Who was still on his feet, which was impossible for a large variety of reasons, all of which were trying to crowd into his mind at once, and the two he picked out as being the most important were

a) the force of the bullet (automatically calculating the pressure in pounds per square inch, the angle of the shot, the power of Trowa's L96A1 British-made sniper rifle) should have been enough to practically explode the enemy's head.

b) the damage of the bullet's impact with the skull was such that, even if--somehow--the body had remained upright, it should not have had the cerebral capacity to turn and aim at Heero, as it was doing.

Something was wrong. So wrong that Heero's brain couldn't quantify it, couldn't analyze it, couldn't even begin to give him theories. For just a moment, he stalled

and stared

into the barrel of the gunman's HK semi-automatic, without registering the threat, without even really seeing it, while his mind tried to function around the huge gap of _I don't know what's going on_.

And the gunman's head, blasted apart by Trowa's shot, was reconstructing itself, from the jaw up--teeth finishing first

_grinning at me_

The lights went out.

As if cut free from whatever was holding him in place, Heero snapped out of his daze, covered the civilian, and took aim. He didn't need to see to squeeze off two rounds, the burst of his gun a bright point of light. The darkness swallowed the sound of the shots as if his gun had been equipped with a silencer. Again, something he couldn't explain.

There was a tense wait for some signal that would trigger his next move, some sound--a body hitting the floor, the grind of a trigger being pulled, breathing, but there was nothing.

Except a soft whisper from under him. "Agent?"

Heero's hand flashed out immediately, instinctively silencing what could compromise their position. Lips flinched back and then, when Heero persisted, went still under his fingers.

It was a moot point, Heero knew, gun still trained on the darkness. He'd given away where they were when he'd fired. Why hadn't anyone fired back? Why wasn't there any _sound?_

They had to move. Heero lifted his hand from the civilian's mouth, grabbed the cloth of a shirt and hauled. They crept across the ballroom as quickly as caution would allow. Heero had memorized the floor plan, and had a snap-shot image in his head of where overturned chairs and tables had landed, so it wasn't too difficult to navigate the pitch dark.

Out in the hallway, emergency floodlights at five-foot intervals along the top of the wall dissected the corridor into shadow and slices of harsh white light. It was still too quiet, but at least there was some sound--the soft hiss of static in his left ear, transmission dead, the rustle of cloth from the civilian behind him, soft breathing.

Internal map open, Heero transferred his grip to the civilian's wrist--easier mobility--and began moving down the hallway, sticking close to the wall. Where was everyone? Where was his backup, the other agents--it shouldn't have taken everyone to get the party guests out--there should have been teams moving in already…

Heero put the thoughts out of his mind and focused on the now, on what he did know. The nearest door to the stairwell was twenty yards away. Once on the ground level, the quickest route outside would be--

The civilian stopped, jerking him up short, ten yards from Heero's objective.

Heero's hand tightened on the other man's wrist as he turned, striving for a polite way to say--_I don't have time to deal with an emotional break down from you just now. If we get downstairs, there are nicer people who'll give you a blanket or something._

But Minamino Shuichi's eyes were focused past Heero's shoulder, further down the corridor, and there was a tense alarm in his expression--not panicky, just very very worried. The pulse under Heero's fingertips, which had been steady and calm until now, he realized, kicked up a notch.

"Not that way," Minamino said, low, pitched to carry only to Heero.

Heero followed his gaze, turning back around, and saw something moving across the floor toward them. Not--something. Not really, he realized, his mental process grinding against the improbability of what his eyes registered and were trying to tell him. Not "something" in the sense that it was three-dimensional and _real_.

Black-wet footprints, without origin, were appearing down the corridor, as if someone with extremely dirty feet were walking toward him, pace deliberate. The scent of blood uncoiled through the hallway as if propelled by a breeze. The footprints weren't really black, Heero realized as they came closer, but a deep red, and they were small, child sized. He could hear the light pat of bare feet on the floor, loud in the silence, and getting louder.

Minamino twisted his hand and switched their grip so he was holding onto Heero's wrist.

"Not that way. Back. Back, come on."

The civilian pulled, hard, and Heero almost stumbled with surprise at the strength, and then he was running, and Minamino was beside him.

"Is there another exit?"

Heero nodded and took the lead.

Behind them, the floodlights were flickering off one by one.

Around the corner, things like a thousand beetles skittered in the shadows and on the edges of sight. Heero ignored them and kicked the stairwell door open, checking that the way was clear before pulling Minamino in after him and shutting the door as the last lights in the hallway went out.

"Do you know what's going on?" Heero voice rang hollowly against concrete walls, hard and flat. He didn't know what compelled him to ask that, beyond a gut feeling and an old, ingrained sense of paranoia. He stabbed a look in Minamino's direction.

Minamino's eyes met his calmly, without answering, then looked down, where blackness seeped under the door like liquid, which should have been impossible because the door had a seal to keep smoke out in case of a fire.

Fear kept trying to speed Heero's heart rate and muddle his thoughts. He didn't know why. These things he kept seeing were disconcerting, but not necessarily life-threatening. Footsteps that appeared without feet to produce them, shadows that seemed intelligent and liquid, while mind-bending, wouldn't kill him. The only thing that had threatened him directly had been the soldier in the ballroom.

Still, though he controlled it, the fear wouldn't go away.

First--survival. Then there would be time to sort everything out. Heero turned and started down the steps, and Minamino kept pace just a step behind.

Two flights of stairs, four, five. There wasn't any sign of anything else strange. They had been on the seventh floor, and there were two flights of stairs between each floor. Heero calculated the time it would take them to get to the bottom.

The fizzle of failing electricity brought his head up, to watch the fluorescents die above them, on the seventh level. He heard a sound he'd been unconsciously waiting to hear since the ballroom--a body hitting the ground. But the sound was quieter, lighter than he'd been expecting, the body smaller. And then the scrape of someone dragging themselves over concrete.

Minamino looked at him, and he looked back, and they shared what Duo would have called an "oh shit" moment. Then they took off down the stairs.

Lights above them fizzled and when out. The sound of someone crawling toward them, breathing harsh and ragged, grew more distinct as the darkness grew closer. It became apparent to Heero that they wouldn't make it, at the rate the electricity above them was dying.

Then Minamino stopped and wrapped an arm around Heero's waist in a quick movement that managed to get under his defenses before he even registered it.

Heero coiled against the hold, stilling the elbow that instinctively jerked to whip back into Minamino's nose because though he was an odd one, Minamino was still a civilian and Heero couldn't hurt him without good reason.

As if to provide him with one, Minamino stepped up onto the railing. Heero twisted, grabbing onto one of the metal bars to stop him from going over the side and plunging them both into the four floor drop below.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Minamino grinned. "Taking a shortcut."

Something touched Heero's hand, searing. He jerked away, letting go of the bar, and turned to see a small, pale face with sunken eyes staring at him from the dark, delicate child-fingers hovering where his hand had been.

Then Minamino jumped into space and they fell.


	3. Navigating Lines

3. Navigating Lines

**Notes: **This storyline is written for the 30 Kisses challenge. This is #23 - candy

Kurama distrusted hospitals. The first time he'd ever had an experience with one had been circa 1980 C.E. at the first sign of his mother's illness. Since the day the doctors had told him there wasn't anything they could do to save her, Kurama had held little but contempt for human medicine.

The field had progressed a great deal since then, but he still thought doctors were too eager to cut something off if it wasn't working, rather than repair it. Fortunately, this time, that wasn't the case.

Kurama wiggled his fingers, amused by the novelty of a cast. He didn't break bones often any more, despite his hobby as a demon hunter, and when he did, he certainly didn't get treated in human facilities. But after falling four stories, it would have been rather ridiculous to walk away unharmed, even when that Preventer had twisted at the last moment to put himself between the floor and Kurama.

"This is ridiculous."

Kurama ignored his manager with ease developed through hours of practice and wished for a pen. There was possibly one in his backpack, which his assistant had brought earlier in the day, but it was across the room on a chair in the corner and getting to it would require braving the space between the end of the bed and the far wall where his manager was pacing.

"I mean, they should fix what's broken, drug up what they can't fix, and not dilly-dally around like _morons_."

"Dilly…dally?"

"It means 'dawdle'." Kurama's manager, Takagawa Ken, was a small man with a barrel chest. Because his head was shaved he looked a bit like a monk, despite the tailored gray blazer and understatedly expensive black shirt. Kurama's interjection had halted his rant and he paused to glare out the door at the orderly who happed to be passing by. The effect was somewhat lost behind his I'm-hiding-my-hangover sunglasses.

"I know," Kurama said. "It's just that I haven't heard anyone use 'dilly-dally' in a sentence before. Except grandmothers in old movies."

That turned the glare on him. "Don't start."

Then it was back to pacing. Kurama ran his fingers over the roughness of his cast and tried not to think of the Preventer again, tried not to worry or feel too guilty. It wasn't as if he could've explained things. _Listen, I'm a very very old demon. You really don't have to protect me_.

Finally, Ken sat down. His leg started to bounce, and his hand twitched toward the inner pocket of his jacket where he kept his cigarettes. That movement aborted before it finished, though his wide lips pressed together with resentment. He propped his elbow on the chair, and slumped, forehead in his hand, until he leaned too far and got poked in the ear by a sprig from one of nearby flower arrangements.

"The hell?" he said, starting back to glare at the offending plant. "Did someone give you _grass?_"

"Bear grass. _Xerophyllum tenex_. Commonly used in flower arrangements."

Ken stared at him. Kurama smiled and said, "Do you have a pen?"

"Why?" The word was drawn out on a suspicious note, which made Kurama's smile widen.

"I want to doodle something on my cast. That's what you're supposed to do, isn't it?"

"Don't you need markers for that?"

"Do you?"

Ken waved dismissal of the whole conversation and plucked the card from flowers. "So who gave you the grass anyway?"

"The nurses from the station across the hall."

Kurama's entire room was decorated with gifts, flowers, chocolates and fruit baskets, which was a bit surprising, since he hadn't been in the hospital for an entire twenty-four hours, yet. The flowers beside Kurama's bed were tiger lilies, warm orange even in the sterile light of the hospital.

Ken tossed the card back into the floral arrangement where it landed on a violet, and turned an accusing look on the redhead. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

Kurama blinked. "Do you want a list?"

"Why won't they release you? They set your arm. You don't have a concussion. You're _fine_. And if they got off their asses and let you out of here, we could still make it to your photo shoot."

"In a cast?"

"Easy enough to hide." He ran a hand over his head, rubbing smooth skin as he stood up and went to pour himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table by the door.

Actually, piecing together overheard conversations and the doctors' leading, gently probing questions, Kurama figured the Preventer had concluded that whatever he'd seen while they'd been escaping from the building had been induced by drugs or a hallucinogenic gas. So the doctors had taken blood samples from both of them and were waiting for the results, keeping them under observation. Which meant, probably, that the Preventer was around here too, somewhere.

But that wasn't something he was going to say. He allowed himself to be smart about very few things in this life, and only on rare occasions. Accurate speculations on medical procedure were not the same as being able to recall the Latin names of plants from time to time.

_Lilium columbianum, _Kurama thought, reaching out his good arm and tracing a fragile stem of a lily with his fingertips.

In his mind was the fall--the sudden sharp surprise as the Preventer wrenched them around in midair, and the fear colored by resentment and guilt when the human had hit first and absorbed the impact. Kurama wasn't used to being saved; he hadn't even expected it, as battle-ready as he'd been.

"I'm leaving," Kurama announced, slipping off his bed. "Hand me my bag?"

Ken stopped pacing. "What?"

"I'm tired of sitting here. I'm going to wander for a bit and I don't want to do so without pants."

"Is that even allowed?" The manager picked up the backpack and handed it over anyway.

Kurama shrugged. "I'm not going far. If the doctor comes back, tell him I went looking for a pen."

Twenty minutes later, Kurama discovered the Preventer's name. "Yuy, Heero" was penciled neatly on the nameplate next to the closed door. He'd gotten directions from one of the nurses who had a bit of a crush on him. Now he stood with one hand raised, hesitating, and not sure why.

Before he could analyze his reluctance too closely, he knocked, and after a prudent pause, let himself in. Blue eyes almost collided with his, a glare so intense that Kurama hovered in the doorway for a moment of recovery. But he'd braved both Hiei and Yuusuke in their worst moods, so there was only a slight hitch in his step before he entered the room.

"Hello, Agent Yuy." Kurama smiled as he took a quick glance around and pretended waves of hostility weren't emanating from the Preventer like a series of tsunamis. "I didn't know you were up. I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

The room was smaller than his had been, but also private. The bed was situated oddly, a distance from the heart monitor and other instruments--which had all been turned off. It took Kurama a minute to realize that someone had shoved it out of the center of the room into the corner. Acquainted with Hiei's paranoid mentality, Kurama concluded that it had been moved into a more defensible position. Also, the Preventer had ripped his IV out of his arm.

"Did you move the bed yourself?"

There was a tiny twitch in Yuy's expression that interrupted the fierceness. Kurama tentatively interpreted it as surprise. Yuy hadn't expected that question, which was probably why he answered it. "Yes."

"Is it all right for you to be moving around so soon?"

Now there was scowling to go along with the glaring. "Mobility is only reduced by twenty-five percent. The weight of the bed is within injury limitations."

Internally, Kurama winced. _Twenty-five percent? How hurt is that?_

Yuy's arm was in a sling and immobilized against his body, but not in a cast, which probably meant a broken collarbone or shoulder blade. His right cheek was patched with a square of gauze, and his right hand was bandaged, but if there was anything else, it was hidden by his shirt and the sheets. Still, overall, he looked all right, and Kurama relaxed a little. Apparently, Yuy was a lot tougher than he looked.

_Well, he certainly felt like a brick wall to land on._ And then he ran the words back over in his mind. _"Twenty-five percent"? Who _talks_ like that?_

Heero Yuy, apparently. Quirky. But that was fine. Kurama could deal with quirky. Suddenly feeling more at ease, he nudged the door shut and moved closer, a little amused at how the Preventer tensed, his right hand twitching like he wanted to reach for a weapon.

_Which they don't allow in hospitals, so I feel quite safe._ Kurama felt his smile grow just a bit wider, and could barely keep from grinning as the Preventer added annoyance to his overall unfriendly attitude.

"What are you doing here?" Yuy growled.

"I came to say thank you." Kurama was very tempted to sit on the end of Yuy's bed, just to see what would happen. But he didn't particularly feel like getting kicked onto the floor, so he just hovered nearby instead. "You did save me, after all."

Kurama pulled out his sweetest smile, because smiles seemed to make Yuy uncomfortable, and Kurama, now that he knew the Preventer was alive and relatively well, was allowing himself to feel resentment toward this silly infant who'd had the audacity to think he needed rescuing. Never mind Yuy had just been trying to do his job.

The young Preventer didn't answer, but the weight of his silence said, "I wouldn't have _had_ to if some _idiot_ hadn't flung us both off the stairway."

Kurama shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

There was that twitch of surprise again. A momentary softening of hard, cold eyes. And then the glare snapped back into place. "It wasn't."

"We wouldn't have gotten away if I hadn't jumped and you know that. The thing pursuing us moved too quickly."

Kurama could tell, in the way Yuy's eyebrows drew together and the dark blue eyes glazed slightly that the Preventer had nearly convinced himself none of that had really happened. The dead hadn't kept moving. The shadows had remained inorganic. The world remained a logical place where bullets killed permanently, demons were only internal, and slightly crazed redheaded civilians needed protecting.

"There was nothing," Yuy said. "It was an illusion, brought on by--"

"What's that on you hand?" Kurama nodded to the bandage wrapped between Yuy's thumb and forefinger, and then continued without waiting for an answer. "I would guess it's a bruise or a burn, in the shape of a handprint, or maybe just fingers, small like a child's."

For the first time, Yuy was suddenly looking at him. _Him_. Not just some random person who'd been added to--what Kurama assumed was--a long list of daily irritations, easily forgotten when gone.

"What do you know?" Yuy said, in a voice that could have been a shout if it hadn't been so quiet.

"Not much more than you do." Kurama kept his voice low to match Yuy's, and also because he realized the line he was walking. Reikai Tantei, even ex-Reikai Tantei, weren't supposed to talk about their "other job" with anyone not approved by Koenma. "But I know what I saw. _Saw_, Agent Yuy. Not 'believed I saw'. Not 'was induced into seeing through mind-altering--anything'."

Yuy's expression eased slightly as he absorbed Kurama's words, analyzed them for truth and came to a decision with a speed that was impressive. His eyes were determined when he said, "Explain it."

The door slammed open.

"Hey Heero! Look who I--oh! Sorry." Kurama recognized the boy in the doorway, braid swinging, still wearing his Preventer uniform that looked a bit rumpled by now. Blue-violet eyes took in the scene, catching on Kurama, darting across the small space between him and Yuy's bed, and then were lost behind a wide, disarming smile. Kurama, who was a master at disarming smiles, wasn't fooled. "Sorry! I didn't know you already had company."

"Duo." Yuy's hand did that want-to-grab-a-weapon thing again, though his tone was not quite as deadly as it had been for Kurama.

The girl that Duo had by the wrist was also familiar, surprisingly so. And Yuy did an interesting thing when he saw her. He froze, his face going blank of expression, his hands loosening. Kurama looked back and forth between them, and then turned to her in the slightly awkward silence and bowed slightly.

"Minister Darlian."

For a moment, he didn't think she was going to take her eyes off Yuy. Then she seemed to remember her manners and turned with a small start. "Oh, I'm sorry. You're…?"

"Minamino Shuichi, Minister."

"Ah yes." She brightened when she recognized him. "The singer. Please, you needn't be so formal."

"Oh yeah--hey! I thought you looked familiar!" Duo's voice seemed to take up the room, fill the cold empty sterility with vibrant energy. "I like your songs, man."

That was a bit surprising. His was more the Angsty Teenager genre, and that didn't really seem to match with Duo's personality. "Really? Any in particular?"

"Oh, uh." The braided boy rubbed his nose, looking slightly sheepish. "I hear them on the radio. I don't really catch the names. But I'm sure you've got talent."

Something in Kurama immediately got along with Duo, who was friendly in a watchful way, but he hid that behind a polite smile. "It's a living."

"Say, if you want us to come back later…"

"No, that's all right." Kurama held up a small box of chocolates that he'd nearly forgotten he had brought. "I was just going to drop off this Get Well gift and be on my way."

Relena had returned to staring at Yuy, who remained still under her gaze. It made Kurama want to poke the Preventer in the forehead. Instead, he set the candy on the bed next to Yuy's knee, and the Preventer jerked his gaze to it as if it were fascinating.

"I don't know if you like chocolate." Kurama rather thought not. Yuy didn't really seem the type. "But they're a traditional gift. Kisses. The chocolate, I mean." Nothing like a good babble to convince people you're harmless as you make your hasty escape. Kurama backed toward the door as he spoke. "Not the gift. Well, they _are_ the gift. But that's the name of the chocolate. I'm not actually giving you kisses as a gift. They're chocolate kisses. In the box."

Duo shifted to let him slide past, one eyebrow raised, and yes, thank you, Kurama _knew_ how ridiculous he sounded. No need to rub it in like that. Yuy's eyes had left the candy and were now tracking him across the room. Any minute now, he'd realize that Kurama had failed to explain anything, and then things would get messy.

"Although, I've been told kisses help when you're hurt. Real ones. Not chocolate. You should try it, maybe." Which was when Duo lost what control he had and started laughing. Kurama suppressed a glare and managed a blush instead. "Um. I'm going to go, now. Thank you again, Agent Yuy."

Kurama darted out the door with a sigh of relief that almost choked him as he pulled up short and swung toward the person-shape just outside. Another teenage Preventer, this one Chinese, with a black ponytail and collected air, was leaning against the wall just next to the door, arms folded, eyes closed. When Kurama paused he looked over, languid and dangerous as a large cat. He didn't answer Kurama's tentative greeting, but Kurama could feel dark eyes follow his progress as he headed back to his own room.

Urameshi Yuusuke lay sprawled on Kurama's bed, candy wrappers scattered around him, watching the TV that hung from the ceiling.

"Yo." Yuusuke flipped a hello hand at him without looking away from the screen.

"Yuusuke." Kurama looked around at the otherwise empty room. "Where's my manager?"

"Baldy? I sent him home."

Kurama sighed. "Yuusuke."

"I can't believe you actually took the bet." Yuusuke's grin was just the human side of devilish. "I caught your concert last week. You looked good. Ten thousand thirteen-year-old girls agree with me."

"Yuusuke."

"Hiei's gonna shit _brimstone_."

"Yuusuke, what are you doing here?"

"'How have you _been_, Yuusuke?' 'It's been _years_, Yuusuke.' 'We have a lot of catching up to do, Yuusuke, why don't I take you out for all-you-can-drink beers, on me?'"

Brown eyes danced as they finally looked away from the television and latched onto Kurama, then dropped down to Kurama's cast.

"Holy fuck, what the hell happened to your arm?"

Kurama sighed again, shut the door and wandered over to the bed. "I broke it with a controlled ki blast. It's fine."

"You did that to yourself?" Yuusuke, who had severe aversion to pain, especially his own, gave him an incredulous look.

"It was necessary." Kurama was busy sweeping candy wrappers and cookie bits off the bed, clearing a space for himself. Yuusuke scooted to make room, but otherwise didn't help. "Did you eat all of these?"

"Nah, I had help. I met another pretty redhead. Apparently there's a two for one sale going on or something."

Kurama stared at him.

Yuusuke shrugged and grinned. "Don't worry. You're the only redhead for me. She was ten anyhow. But she looked a little lost. In that I-don't-really-know-who-I-am way. I figured some chocolate and television couldn't hurt."

"Where did she go?"

"Her guardian finally found her and took her away."

"You and your stray puppies." Kurama sat on the bed next to Yuusuke and settled in to watch what appeared to be some sort of game show.

"Yeah, well, I really don't think you get to say anything, Mr. I-break-my-own-bones-for-fun."

"Someone saw me fall down a considerable distance. If I hadn't gotten hurt it would've looked suspicious. Not that it really mattered, considering the other things he saw."

"Yeah. Heard there was trouble."

"Which is why you're here?"

"Bingo."

"How much do you know?"

"Not a lot. You know Koenma. He likes to keep things interesting by not telling us much. The jerk."

Yuusuke was warm against Kurama's side as they leaned together, sitting on the bed, an easy familiarity that he'd missed in the years of Yuusuke's absence.

"I'm glad you're here. I'm not sure what to make of what happened. It doesn't feel like normal demonic activity."

"There's such a thing as 'normal demonic activity'?"

"It's not something you'll be able to punch in the face to make it go away."

"Well fuck." Yuusuke's voice was casual, but his scowl was sincere. "Doesn't leave a lot for me to do then."

"I think it's a…a haunting, maybe. Also…" The weave and weft of the hospital blanket formed a checkered pattern, and he rubbed his fingers over it.

Yuusuke sat a little straighter. "Also?"

"Also there may be some trouble on the civilian front. There was an Agent who rescued me. He saw some things…"

Tension released from Yuusuke's body and he slumped back against the pillows. "They always see things. They never believe them. Sheesh, don't scare me like that."

"I may have…confirmed his suspicions."

Now Yuusuke sounded vaguely confused. "Then you just go and erase his memory with that little memory-eraser flower thing you have. No biggy."

The problem was, Kurama knew what he was supposed to do, and found himself strangely reluctant to do so.

"Kurama? Hey." Yuusuke shifted toward him, turning so he was facing the redhead. "Something wrong? You can tell me, you know."

Yuusuke put his hand under Kurama's chin and tugged his head around, but Kurama found himself looking at the pillow as his fingers curled on a handful of it.

"You know I'm always here for you," Yuusuke continued. "You can tell me anything."

Any minute now…

"And then." Yuusuke leaned in until his breath brushed Kurama's cheek. "We can paint our nails and do our hair, and _really_ become the girls I know you've always wanted to be."

The pillow blindsided Yuusuke even though he really should have expected some sort of attack. The next few minutes were full of Kurama trying very hard to smother Yuusuke and Yuusuke making an effort to avoid death while laughing his ass off.

Somewhere in the tussle, Yuusuke's elbow landed on the TV remote, changing the channel and raising the volume until it was loud enough that they broke apart just to turn it down before the nurses came in to scold them.

"Hey, Kurama." After he hit mute, Yuusuke tilted his head, squinting at the screen, at the reporter who looked to be speaking in that clipped-serious reporter way, fingertips pressed to one ear, the other cupped around the microphone of the headset. "Isn't that where you were last night?"

Behind the reporter was the hall where the dinner party had been held, but Kurama's eyes were drawn to movement, closer. There was someone moving toward the reporter, from the direction of the hall.

It was blurred in static that seemed to center on it, the rest of the image still broadcasting clearly. Walking, with slow, deliberate steps that sometimes hitched to one side or the other, as if its balance wasn't entirely secure. But it never stumbled or fell. As it drew closer, Kurama noticed in scale against the reporter, that it was small, like a young child.

Then it passed right through the reporter, who never stopped talking.

The static got worse the closer the figure got, until the figure moved out of the view of the camera. Kurama took a breath, half-waiting for the thing to walk out of the television and into the room, only releasing it slowly after a long moment of nothing happening. The image changed, back to the newsroom, where the anchors began talking about stock prices. Kurama read their lips without paying attention.

A hand slammed against the picture, palm out, fingers spread, as if something inside the television was trying to get out. An instant later, the screen flipped into pure static.

After a moment, Yuusuke said, "I'm guessing that's bad."

After a moment, Kurama answered, "I'll second that."


	4. River Rising

**Notes: **This storyline is written for the 30 Kisses challenge. This is # 29 - the sound of waves

"Fssshhhooo….fssshoooooo…"

Ignoring Duo Maxwell did not make him go away, but that didn't mean Heero wouldn't try. He concentrated on easing the tension in his shoulders that made his cracked collarbone ache.

Being in the same room with Relena made him tense. He kept calculating all the ways an assassin could get to her, where she stood in proximity to the window, how far she was from the door, the angle of the hallway, how he could cover her in time should anyone try to attack.

Keeping all that in mind, it had been difficult to focus on what she'd been saying. He'd sensed she'd been concerned, which was unnecessary. He was in no danger of dying. His wounds were annoying--fractured collarbone, bruised ribs, strained ankle--but even if there were unforeseen complications, none of it would likely be fatal.

She'd had to leave to take a phone call. Wufei, still in the hallway, was watching to see that her security got her out safely, and Heero was slowly coming down from the hyperawareness that Relena's presence put him in.

Still, Duo's voice irritated more than usual.

"Fssssshooooo…"

"Duo, since you smuggled me my gun, I I can /I shoot you." It was solid under his pillow, reassuring, and he felt a lot better knowing it was there, even if he doubted he would need to use it. Heero tried not to think about what that said about himself.

Duo grinned, unrepentant. "I love it when you talk dirty." He let that sentence hang itself in the silence of Heero's glare, and then continued with a flow-y, wiggly gesture of fingers, "Fssshooo--Ow!"

Wufei poked his head in from the hallway. "She's clear."

Heero nodded, and let a little more tension go.

"What the hell did you hit me with?" Duo glared at his partner, rubbing the back of his head.

"A five-cent piece," Wufei said, unashamed. "Don't be such a baby, Maxwell."

"What the hell did you do that for?"

"You were annoying Yuy. He needs his rest, and can't accomplish that if he wants to kill you."

"Indignantly wounded" was a look Duo specialized in. "I was helping him rest!"

Wufei could raise one eyebrow better than anyone Heero knew. "How?"

"Ambient sounds!"

"Ambient sounds."

"Yeah--they're soothing! The sound of waves: fshooo…"

"I have plenty of change in my pocket, Maxwell."

Duo smirked as if he'd like to see just how much of it Wufei was willing to sacrifice to make him shut up. Heero decided now was a good time to cut in.

"Status?"

That got him twin looks of annoyance, though Duo's faded into a grin as he answered, "Nothing big--scratches and bruises. Don't worry about us! _You're_ the one stuck in bed, you poor schmuck. Can't say I envy you the hospital food. Wu and I are going to go out to a nice restaurant tonight and order some big juicy steaks in honor of you, aren't we, Wu?"

It was true that Duo didn't lie, but Heero knew that honesty was as flexible as chewing gum sometimes, and that "scratches and bruises" could cover a large swath of injuries.

"Not unless that's code for finishing our reports and calling it an early night because we need our rest, too," Wufei said.

Heero watched Wufei. Not because the Chinese Preventer would be any more open about being hurt but because, sometimes, Heero could read him better than Duo. Wufei wasn't as good at hiding, especially with body language.

"You are a real work-a-holic, you know that? There are support groups for guys like you. WA--Work-a-holics Anonymous. I should get you a brochure. What do you think, Heero?"

Both of them looked all right. He supposed they'd already been checked over by medical personnel, but Heero preferred making his own conclusions.

"Oh, never mind." Duo rolled his eyes. "Just look who I'm talking to. I bet _Quatre_ would agree with me."

That reminded Heero. "Quatre and Trowa?"

"They're coming. They had to wrap things up with the press. Well, Quatre did. And Trowa kept him company."

Duo had acquired a seat from somewhere and affected one of his gangly sprawls that made even the hospital chair look comfortable. Wufei had shifted so he could keep an eye on things in both the room and the hallway.

"And before you ask," Duo continued. "They're both fine. Quatre got a bump on the head but nothing serious. So you can just stop fretting now, Mr. Worry-pants."

So Heero had taken the most damage. It was good to know the others were mobile and ready to go should another emergency occur.

"Winner may not be able to help you remember things any more clearly." Dark eyes scanned the hallway almost automatically, though Wufei's body language said most of his attention was on the people in the room. "His 'talent' doesn't exactly work that way."

"It's a worth a try." The rhythm Duo's fingers tapped out on the metal arm of his chair were restless. Heero automatically listened for code patterns, but there were none. "But, yeah. We may only have what you remember now. Which even you admit is pretty sketchy."

Heero didn't consciously remember clenching his hands into fists, and only noticed when the fibers of the blanket he held pressed into his skin enough to cause discomfort. He forced himself to relax, frowning in self-recrimination. He ought to have more control than that.

"See, I told you those late-night benders would come back to haunt you." Duo stretched his legs out, smile just a few shades shy of wicked. "I mean, come on, man, lay off the beer from time to time. Stop going to all those parties. There's social, and then there's _social_."

Duo batted the next coin Wufei sent toward his head out of the air, but then missed the one that bounced off his shoulder.

Detailed memory recall had always been one of Heero's strengths. That everything after his fall in the stairwell, and even the events up to that point, were blurry--what he did remember incomprehensible--was disconcerting.

Green eyes dominated the only memory that stood out with any clarity, and red hair and a mischievous curve of smile that slipped into an otherwise solemn expression.

Duo cocked his head. "What's that look?"

A corner of Heero's mouth crimped in annoyance, but he answered anyway. "Minamino Shuichi."

"Cute singer guy?" Duo grinned. "What's he got to do with anything? Besides possible hot date material."

Heero ignored that last bit. "He might be able to--"

All three of them reacted in surprise as the TV in a corner of Heero's wall flipped on, volume on high, static like a crash of a wave. Tense and frozen, each of them reaching for a weapon, Duo was the first to relax and move with a little snort of amusement, standing and looking around for the remote. When he couldn't find it, he looked at Heero who shrugged. It wasn't as if he'd touched it.

A few minutes of hunting didn't reveal it, so Duo turned toward the television, stepped up onto a chair and jerked the power cord out of the wall. The static didn't stop. Duo frowned, startled. Unease prickled between Heero's shoulder blades.

By the door, Heero felt Wufei's attention turned out into the hall, and could hear the sound of static rise, as the faint background drone of news or sports of daytime talk shows were silenced in a hiss that was getting louder.

* * *

"Quatre?"

Hospitals were difficult places. So many people, their high emotions pressing in around him, became just a buzz of almost-voices at the edges of hearing. Too long lingering here and his headache, vaguely muffled by painkillers, would threaten migraine proportion.

"Quatre."

The television in the lobby was showing a cartoon. He'd been trying to remember its name, because it looked familiar, a fragment of memory. A scattering of children sat in a haphazard circle around the television, watched over by three women he guessed to be their mothers.

As he watched, one of a small girl made a grab for a cup and knocked it over. For a moment he saw something thick and red spill on the ground when the cup hit, but then he blinked and it was only water.

The mother (or older sister, or aunt, or cousin) bent with shushing sounds to scoop up the little girl. Their hair, the same shade of gold, blended as the woman bent her head and gave the crying child a kiss, just between the eyebrows.

His own mother's hair had been that color, in fuzzy, distant dreams. Iria's hair had been that color, tangled in his hands as she died.

Light fingertips on his elbow focused him, brought his head around. "Ah, I'm sorry, Trowa."

Trowa scanned him once, as if looking for injury, and then glanced back toward the children. Quatre kept still and projected calm with his eyes and the set of his shoulders and smiled.

"We're done," Trowa said finally. He'd spent the last ten minutes filling out paperwork that would allow them to see Heero. "We can go. Is your security in place?"

"Yes." He knew without turning that there were two discrete plainclothes guards at the main entrance of the hospital.

Trowa nodded and turned to lead the way. Behind Quatre, there were a chorus of protests in high children's voices and he turned to see that the television had flipped into static. On the ground, the little paper cup was still overturned, yellow and purple daisies decorating its surface, and water flowing from it, a constant trickle that had already covered more of the floor than should have been possible.

The little girl with golden hair turned away from the television and stared at him, and her eyes were not the color he'd been expecting. They were dark, black, like hollowed shadows in her face, and her lips moved, forming a name--

_Quatre._

He didn't realize he was backing away until he ran into someone. There was a girly squeak and a little squish, and he whirled instinctively, reaching out to steady the person.

"I'm sorry," he said, and then paused when he got a better look.

She was small, shorter than him, with vivid sky blue hair in a high ponytail. He'd seen stranger styles, he supposed, but they usually were accompanied by black clothing and leather and the gratuitous use of piercings. Instead, she was dressed in a bulky yellow-and-green hooded sweatshirt with a grinning cartoon cat face on the chest and jeans.

She was also soaked. The cloth beneath his fingers was dripping frigid water, her hair was plastered, ponytail weighted, rivulets slipping down her pale cheeks and around her bright smile. Quatre flicked a look toward the windows, though he already knew it wasn't raining outside.

Then he glanced back toward the television, but the child was gone.

"My goodness!" the blue-haired girl said, and he looked back around, met with a cheerful smile. "How did you manage that?"

Quatre blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Oops! Am I corporeal?" She picked up his hand and poked her own cheek with his fingertips.

"Um." Quatre threw a glance around, and saw Trowa coming back from further down the hallway, his expression puzzled. "Are you…are you all right, miss? Is there someone…"

Perhaps she was a patient, escaped from a room and still loopy on drugs, but that wouldn't explain why she was dripping a puddle on the floor.

"I'm a little lost." She kept hold of his hand, though she let it fall away from her face. Her eyes were a strange flat purple that seemed to see through him. Her hand was wet and cold. "You're odd, aren't you?"

"I'm odd?" Ingrained politeness was the only thing that kept his response questioning instead of incredulous.

"There's trouble. But you know that already, don't you?"

"Do I?"

"Yes. Even if you're ignoring it, right now." Her smile was serene. Her skin was so pale he could see the faint veins of blue running under it. "I suppose I shouldn't tell you these things. But you're warm." Her hand tightened on his fingers, and he found himself squeezing back, old gesture of comfort.

"I don't understand but…perhaps we should get a doctor to look at you. What happened?"

Trowa stopped beside him. "Quatre?"

"Trowa, could you call a doctor?"

"Yes. And perhaps you should sit down."

The hand on his arm, tugging him toward a set of chairs was a surprise. Quatre turned and frowned slightly, and Trowa met his look with one of his own, lips pressed together, eyebrows drawn down.

"What are you talking about?" Quatre asked, pulling against Trowa's hold. "It's not me it's…"

There was only empty hallway where the girl had stood. He blinked, eyes darting over the chairs, the red exit sign, a gurney pushed up against a wall, trying to find her as if she could hide in the soft shadows of neon light.

Trowa's voice was soft. "Who is it?"

"Didn't you see her? She was…right here."

He couldn't help looking at Trowa for confirmation that he wasn't going crazy. Because he'd gone crazy once before and knew what it felt like. His eyes darted back toward the television, but though the screen was still static, everything else seemed normal. He rubbed the back of his head restlessly, hoping the twinge of pain would clear his thoughts. The doctor had told him he wasn't concussed, but maybe…

Trowa studied him, the worry fading into the background as he analyzed the situation. Then he looked down, and Quatre followed his gaze to see where wet footprints trailed away from the puddle at his feet, off down the hallway.


	5. Second Meeting

**Notes: **This storyline is written for the 30 Kisses challenge. This is # 18 - "Say, ahh…"

Kurama took a step into the hallway and almost collided with Botan.

"Botan?" He caught her by the shoulders. "Why are you soaking wet?"

The ferry girl grabbed her ponytail and squeezed out a little water with a rueful grin. "We're in trouble, I think."

"Could you be less cheerful about that, please?" Yuusuke said, a step behind Kurama. "We already figured something was wrong. Details, Botan."

"The river Styx has changed course."

Kurama blinked, trying to reword that sentence to make logical sense. "What?"

"The River has shifted. It's now flowing back into the human world." Botan wrung out her sleeve.

"How is that even possible?" Kurama asked.

Botan shrugged. "We don't know. It's never happened before."

It looked as if Yuusuke was attempted to put that into perspective. They'd dealt with enough disasters that sometimes it was difficult. "So…This is bad."

"On a scale of one to ten," Botan said, "it's probably a twenty."

Kurama glanced over his shoulder and noticed that their television was dripping water

"Less," Yuusuke was saying, "or more bad than that time what's-his-face broke free of hell and wanted to make Earth his new Home of Evil?"

"Yakumo," Kurama supplied, taking a step back toward the door, keeping his eyes on the water pooling on the ground.

"Mmm…" Without looking at her, he could only guess that she was making a gesture to clarify that response.

"I think," Kurama said, turning around and taking Yuusuke and Botan by the arm, "that it would be advisable to run while we talk."

"So what's with all the creepiness?" Yuusuke asked as he hurried his pace to keep up with Kurama's long strides. "I mean…ghosts aren't usually this…creepy. Not the ones I've met."

In the room they'd left behind, Kurama picked up the sound of something hitting the wet floor with the solid thud of a body.

"Not all ghosts are just confused or lost," Botan said. "Some are really really angry. Hurting and twisted and vengeful."

They passed through dim hallways, past empty rooms. This was a hospital in the hub of a large city, Kurama thought with some trepidation. Where were the people? He kept all his senses open, half expecting to hear footstep pursuing, but there was nothing but the hum of fluorescent and the smell of stilted water.

"So what do we do?" Yuusuke asked.

"Find the source. Observe. Hope something looks obvious--like a big red button or and off switch or something. If not, well, that's what Kurama's for."

"Thanks," Kurama said, drawing the word out in sarcasm that rang against the hallway's blank walls. He veered, pulling the other two. "Stairwell."

"In case of fucking weird shit," Yuusuke said in singsong. "Please use stairs."

Out of the corner of Kurama's eye, he spotted movement. That was strange enough in itself to warrant attention, since the only things that had moved in the last few minutes had been the three of them.

Kurama paused and turned as Yuusuke and Botan continued into the stairwell. There was a shape disappearing behind the corridor--small, in hospital-white.

Yuusuke stuck his head back around the door. "Kurama…?"

"You go on." Kurama waved him back. "I'll catch up."

"Oh no you don't," Yuusuke said, taking a step past the doors. "I know that look. That's the 'you go on, Yuusuke, while I get myself in a crapload of trouble, and even though I'll be able to make it out, I'll still get horribly wounded or something' look. We're coming with you. Come on, Botan." He glanced back when he didn't receive an immediate reply. "Botan? Shit. Where…?"

The rest of his sentence was lost as he ducked back into the stairwell and the door shut behind him. Kurama continued without waiting. As he rounded the corner he paused to stare at the water that was covering the floor, the lights overhead flickering. There was no one else, not even the sound of someone moving.

_You might be right about that trouble, Yuusuke_, Kurama thought, but kept going anyway, the splash of his footsteps loud it the quiet.

He knew this hallway. He'd been down this way recently, past the abandoned nurse's station that had been manned by a cheerful brunette a short while ago. She'd asked for his autograph, given him her number with a grin and wink, signed with Xs and Os.

There was no one here, he told himself. There was no one to rescue. The people were gone, or perhaps he was somewhere outside the realm of people. Stranger things had happened. But he continued to retrace earlier steps, until he found himself at Heero Yuy's room, staring in surprise at three incredulous Preventers.

Duo said, "What are you doing here?" at the same time Kurama said, "How are you here?"

"There's something wrong." It was difficult to convey urgency and be vague all at the same time, Kurama thought with frustration. _Please come with me. I think your souls are about to be devoured by the angry dead._ That probably wouldn't work, either.

Duo quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah, we noticed."

"We need to leave this place," Kurama continued.

The lights were still working here, and the floor was dry, but water was already creeping in under his feet, and darkness around the edges of the door.

"We're aware of that," the Chinese Preventer said with a sharp gesture at Yuy. "We were about to look for someone to help us move Yuy."

"Or a wheelchair," Duo said.

"I can walk," Yuy growled.

Kurama looked at Duo. "How bad is it?"

"Nothing's broken, but it's a nasty sprain."

"It's fine," Yuy said, shifting so he sat on the edge of the bed.

He was holding a gun. That made Kurama blink, thoughts veering off course for a moment. It was in that moment of distraction that he said, "I'll carry him."

All three Preventers stared at him for a long moment. Longer than they had to spare. Kurama shifted restlessly, glancing back over his shoulder. Though none of his senses picked up anything hostile, his instincts were nearly frantic with a sense of danger.

"Um." Duo coughed, which was probably a laugh politely covered. "No offense. I mean, our Heero _looks_ small and slender, but he's really very heavy. All muscle."

Now Yuy's laser-blue glare was split equally between Kurama and Duo.

"Plus," the Chinese boy added, "he's armed."

Kurama locked eyes with Yuy. "I'm stronger than I look, and Agent Yuy doesn't frighten me."

"I'll walk." Yuy slipped off the bed and hit the floor and didn't wince, though he was barefooted and bandaged and wearing loose, thin hospital clothes.

Kurama was torn between being impressed and wanting to smack him. "Fine. Let's go."

Somewhere down the hallway, a dog barked. High, playful-puppy sound, and a little girl laughed. "Good dog, Mary!"

The television echoed, distorted by static, _"Good dog, Mary!"_

"Really really time to go," Kurama muttered, already a few steps into the hallway. Duo's voice turned him around.

"Heero?"

Yuy stood staring at the screen of the television looking…lost, features slack with shock, pale. Something squeezed cold in Kurama's chest at the sight. It was not a look he would ever have thought to see on the Agent's face.

"Heero? Come on, man, times a-wastin'." Duo was carefully edging into Yuy's personal space, frowning.

Darkness was gathering. The water was rising. Though Kurama _still_ couldn't see a damned thing to warrant his alarm, he could _feel_ danger, making hairs stand on end. He grabbed onto one of Yuusuke's favorite phrases (_Fuck it_.) and pushed forward, past the Chinese Preventer, past Duo, right into Heero's space.

"Forgive me for the informality," Kurama said, grabbing Heero's shoulder. "Please don't shoot me."

For one moment, Heero flinched hard and pulled away, and Kurama braced for the bullet impact, for the pain, for the blood, and tried to ready an acceptable lie for why he would still be able to walk a moment later, and then awareness returned to those blue eyes, shuttering them, making them darker.

"I'm fine," Heero said. Kurama pretended not to hear the rawness in the undertone of his voice.

"Shut up," Kurama answered, bent a little at the knees, and picked Yuy up. "If you flail, I'll drop you on your head until you're complacent. If you shoot me, I'll break your hand for good measure."

"No you won't," Duo said with a grin that was not exactly friendly.

Kurama considered that. "All right. I'll make you fish out the bullet and kiss the wound better."

Yuy, who'd already been digging his fingers into pressure points as well as he could with one arm in a sling and the other hand holding a gun, growled a little at that one. Kurama was just grateful that his cast didn't restrict his own movement. Heero _was_ heavier than he looked. Kurama shifted his grip in careful awareness of Heero's injuries and then nodded to Duo, who looked as if he couldn't decide whether to be wary or amused.

Duo lead them out into the hallway, and the Chinese Preventer acted as rear guard, keeping the wounded between them. Kurama had to stop himself from turning around and checking on him every few steps. They were children and they were human, and that, apparently, kicked in some latent mothering instinct. It didn't seem to matter that they were armed to the teeth.

The nearest stairwell was only three doors down. All of them were private rooms with the doors shut tight. As the passed the second one, someone knocked a little rhythm on the other side. Heero's gun hand twitched. Duo stopped, hesitated, and then reached out toward the door knob.

"_No_," Kurama said, the word wrenching out of him before he registered it.

Something scratched against the door on the other side. Duo dropped his hand and took a step back.

"Yeah," he said. "This is freakier than usual." Then he continued to the stairwell.

When the stairwell door wrenched open, Kurama almost summoned a rose whip. But Duo reached out and caught the person who stumbled and nearly fell into him.

"Quatre?!"

"Duo!"

"Quatre!" Duo hugged the newest boy, pale blond hair and tailored clothing. Kurama blinked when he recognized Quatre Raberba Winner. "And Trowa! Hey, guys, we're all here, now!" He waved at the taller boy behind Winner. The boy gave a small wave back. "Great! Now we can all run away together."

"Run away?" Winner looked beyond Duo and fixed his gaze on Yuy. Or, more so on Kurama carrying Yuy. He blinked. Kurama offered the best "I'm so innocent" smile he had in his repertoire, and Yuy glared.

The whole exchange distracted Winner long enough that they got moving again. Kurama tried not to feel trepidation as they hurried down the steps. His last experience in a stairwell had been memorable and not very pleasant. He wondered if it bothered Yuy, or if Yuy even allowed himself to be bothered by such little things.

The building seemed to close in on them, the air heavy and stale, the steps slick with puddles. Kurama could swear he could sometimes hear someone following them, but whenever he tried to distinguish real footsteps from echoes, the results were inconclusive.

Outside, the day was dim with thick fog that curled around Kurama's feet and clung to the walls of buildings. Yuusuke's ki was like a beacon, and Kurama saw him a moment later, waiting by a lamppost, its light barely making an impact in the fog. There was no one else on the street.

Kurama set Yuy down as Yuusuke paced over. He felt the Preventers tense collectively, saw Yuusuke grin in response, and stopped himself from smacking Yuusuke upside the head as he drew close.

"This is Urameshi Yuusuke," Kurama said. "A friend of mine. It's all right."

"Yeah," Yuusuke said, dropping into a casual stance, hands in pockets. "I'm as docile as a…" He didn't seem to be able to figure out a correct ending to the simile.

"A dead bird?" Duo suggested.

"An old dog?" That was from Winner.

"Tame lion," said the boy who'd accompanied Winner.

"An idiot," the Chinese Preventer said, folding his arms across his chest.

Duo, Quatre and even Kurama looked expectantly at Heero, who gave them a cold "I'm not playing this stupid game" glare. He was still a little pale, but at least his angry, annoyed look was back to form.

Yuusuke grinned wider. "Yeah, one of those." He looked at Kurama. "Say, ahh…are they in?"

Kurama hesitated. He wanted to point out that he really didn't have the authority to approve outsider aid. But then, it wasn't as if Team Urameshi had ever been good at adhering to regulations.

"I think they'll have to be."

"In?" Wufei frowned.

"Yeah. That means we get to tell you a lot of stuff you may not want to know about. But first thing's first." He jerked his thumb at Quatre. "We need to borrow your psychic."


	6. Wading In

Heero's instinct told him not to trust these people. But that was pretty much his reaction to everyone, so he glanced at Quatre for a second opinion. Quatre was watching Urameshi with a look that was wary but not hostile.

Urameshi apparently took weighted silence to be acquiescence.

"So," he continued to Quatre, "if you could do a brain sweep and give us a general direction to move towards, that would be great."

Quatre didn't even bother covering a dubious expression, which usually meant he was feeling comfortable enough to reveal some of his inner sarcasm. "Brain sweep?"

"Yeah. With your brain powers." Urameshi wiggled fingers at him and made kissy fish-mouth motions that Heero had no idea what they were supposed to signify.

Heero kept a fraction of his attention on the conversation, in case anyone said anything useful. The rest he turned out, to the silent, fog-choked street. The lamp they were standing under was unfamiliar. He didn't remember seeing one like it anywhere around the hospital. Part of him wanted to touch it to make sure it was real, but he wouldn't let paranoia reign him quite so thoroughly, yet.

He couldn't see any buildings, which meant it would be difficult to defend. He wouldn't know what cover the enemy might have, what direction they might come from.

"Both Yuusuke and I are trained to read ki signatures," Minamino was saying, his voice quiet and cultured and completely unlike the vague knowledge of his public face that Heero had. "But we don't think that will be of any use to us, at the moment.

"Why not?" Duo's hands were on his hips, his stance easy. He dealt with weird and unexpected curves easily. Beside him, Wufei looked as tense as Heero felt, his dark gaze stabbing at the dense fog as if it had personally offended him.

"We believe…we're dealing with ghosts."

"And ghosts don't have ki," Urameshi added. "Because it's life energy and they're, well…dead."

_Even when they haunt you. Even when you stand beside them in dreams. Even when they speak to you in cold hospital rooms._

Heero tightened his grip on his gun and gave his head a little shake. There was a fear in him, linked to a conscience and an imagination that J had never quite managed to kill. But Heero tried never to listen to it, and didn't intend to start now.

"Heero?" Trowa was closer than expected. Heero nearly jumped, but managed to control the action to a slight tense.

"We need to move," he said, finally. "Earlier memory of street layout is unreliable. We'll need additional reconnais--"

"Recon ain't gonna do you much good," Yuusuke said in a drawl that emphasized a street accent Heero couldn't place. "This place'll move on you."

"How do you know that?" Quatre asked.

"This has the feel of a malleable plane," Kurama said.

"I'm guessing you don't mean a seven forty-seven made of putty."

Kurama quirked a smile at Duo. "No. I mean we appear to be existing inside a piece of reality that isn't stable. It's useless to try and measure its space and structure because it's going to keep changing."

He gave Heero a sympathetic glance that Heero observed but didn't really register. It was still against Heero's instinct to stay still while he felt he was being hunted in someone else's territory.

"So we need someone who can sense ghosts to give a direction," Yuusuke said. "All this power has to be coming from somewhere. We're hoping it's all in one spot and not scattered. What do you say, blondie? Give it a try?"

Quatre's eyebrow twitched at the nickname. "I don't know if I can sense ghosts."

"Try it. If it doesn't work, we'll think of something else."

Quatre closed his eyes.

Silence became a thing with claws, prowling on feet of fog. There was an almost continuous skitter of _alert! danger!_ down Heero's spine, now, but his senses weren't telling him anything. There was no where to point his gun. His visibility was reduced almost eighty percent. The only scents he could smell were damp air and cement and the metal of the lamppost. The light was burning above them without hum or snap of fluorescent.

Heero caught Duo's eye, and Duo nodded slightly, nudging Wufei, who had focused on Quatre. Wufei gave his partner a glare, but moved anyway, without even the sound of grit moving under Preventer-issue boots to mark his passage from one side of the group to the other, flanking.

Duo took point. Heero turned his eyes away from Trowa, Minamino and Urameshi watching Quatre, and guarded.

Most of Heero was focused on this self-imposed task. It should have been all. But some small part of him was still waiting for the silence to be broken. This was the kind of quiet meant to be shattered--by a gunshot, by glass breaking, by a scream.

Instead it was a soft hiss, like sand sliding over gravel.

Heero turned at Urameshi's exclamation of surprised, and felt something push against his feet. He looked down and found himself ankle-deep in gray water. It took him a few moments after that to register the biting cold and wet. He wasn't wearing shoes, and the bandage on his ankle was soaking through.

Quatre had his back turned to Heero, but there was something in his stance, or maybe in Trowa's expression as he watched Quatre, that made the small hairs on Heero's arms stand on end.

"We're moving against the river," Quatre said.

"Okay," Urameshi said. "Seems easy enough. Whichever way the water's flowing, we'll go the other way. Everybody good with that plan?"

Urameshi didn't wait for an answer, just started walking. Trowa made a move to reach for Quatre, which he stopped halfway through, but Quatre jerked away in a violent little movement and slapped Trowa's hand aside anyway, causing all of them to pause.

"Ah," Quatre said, blinking rapidly, and then looking troubled. "S-sorry…"

"Time to go, guys," Urameshi said, and clapped his hands, the sound like a whip-crack in a world still too quiet.

Heero didn't take orders from people he didn't know, but that was less important than his need to move away from the light and the noise they had already made. He gritted his teeth, forgot about the cold and the discomfort of his wounds, and moved forward. Trowa and Quatre fell into step when he came even with them, with Duo and Wufei still flanking.

What felt like an hour later, and probably was, considering how accurate Heero's internal clock was, there was a bend in the river. He'd rolled up his long hospital pants to his knees, but the water was high enough that little ripples and jumps in the water were wetting them again.

Urameshi and Kurama had just finished summarizing what information they thought was relevant to the situation--the three worlds, the River of Souls, the Reikai Tantei. It was not, by any means, everything they knew, but Heero had the feeling that there wasn't time enough to cover all of that.

He'd let the others question, listen, poke and prod and consider. Heero could repeat the conversation back verbatim, but it still wouldn't mean much to him. He absorbed only as far as to realize there would probably be many things on this mission that he wouldn't be able to explain logically. He had acknowledged that, and incorporated it so the abnormalities would, hopefully, no longer slow his reaction time.

When, or if, Urameshi ever got around to explaining how he could kill or fix this, then he would start listening in earnest.

Instead, he found himself watching. Urameshi and Minamino worked together with an ease that was evident in everything. In the way they finished each other sentences, and moved inside each other's space but never tripped one another up. But he noticed, every once in a while, that there were gaps, brief moments where they'd pause, as if waiting for someone else to step in or say something.

A part of a team, then, Heero concluded. They were used to working in a larger group. Heero wondered how many. He wondered where the others were.

Then he stopped wondering, because he needed to focus on the present. He'd slotted Urameshi and Minamino into the "allies" category of his mind, at least for the moment, so if anyone associated with them showed up, that's where they'd land by default. It didn't matter where the rest of Minamino's team was because he didn't have to track them like enemies.

"You're taking it rather well," Minamino said, with a slightly bemused tilt to his head.

"Taking what well?" Wufei asked, voice gruff. He didn't much like the supernatural, either, but he seemed to have an easier time than Heero adjusting to the idea of it.

"The idea that ghosts are real."

Trowa's voice was quiet but clear. "I think we have enough ghosts of our own to know, real or not, they can do a lot of damage to a person."

The group was turning slowly with the curve of the water, and Heero's internal map insisted it was because there were buildings in the way--a designer boutique, a men's shoeware store. Heero couldn't feel his toes anymore, though he knew they weren't in danger of permanent damage. The fog rolled out in front of them, a wall of white.

"We're close," Quatre said.

Heero spun, gun trained on the nothing behind them.

"Heero, what--"

There was a splash, as something heavy hit the water right in front of Heero, causing a wave high enough to soak Heero up to the hips. Then it pressed out of the fog, as if the vapor were its skin, ghost-white and grinning.

There was another splash. And another.

"Fuck," Duo said.

"Run!"

* * *

# 27 - overflow


	7. ArrivalDeparture

Kurama flinched as Agent Yuy pulled the trigger, gun shot cracking the quiet into distinct pieces. The fog-creature blasted apart with the bullet impact, but then bled back together, looking angrier, coming faster.

Kurama turned. "Yuusuke!"

"Already on it." Yuusuke's hand was pointed toward the things, which were now a dozen strong and rolling forward like a wall with grinning faces. His fingers curled into his "gun" pose and Kurama tackled Yuy without thinking and got an elbow in the cheek for his effort. That would bruise.

Then nothing happened.

Dripping and trying not to taste the wet-ashes flavor of spirit-world water, he turned and stared at Yuusuke.

Who was blinking at his own hand like it had grown a sixth finger, or maybe lost one without his noticing. "Huh?"

Yuy shook Kurama off with a growl, and lurched to his knees, firing rapidly and hitting three of the things in the dead center of what could pass for their foreheads.

Kurama stood and grabbed his arm, trying to haul him up. "We need to--"

Yuy shook him off, glaring. "I can _do_ this. I just need--"

"You can't just shoot them! You're only making them angrier!"

They both flinched and fell back as one of the frontrunners reared up next to them and then exploded into a fine mist, the rapport of a gun echoing in the fog.

"Move your _ass_, Yuy!" Further ahead, Duo was shoving the Chinese Preventer in front of him, gun in his other hand. "Quatre says it's this way!"

Kurama could only wonder at what "it" was, exactly. Yuusuke finally dropped his hand and shrugged before turning to follow the others. "Come _on_, Kurama."

Running was difficult when it consisted mostly of wading through hip-deep water. Kurama was tempted to swim it, but a glance at Yuy reminded Kurama that the agent was wounded, one arm still inhibited against his chest, so that wouldn't work. He felt a small jolt of guilt, and managed to squash it before he could do something embarrassing, like try to coddle the boy. At the very least, all mothering instincts should be reserved until after they were finished running for their lives.

Duo cut back a moment later with Yuusuke and the Chinese Preventer. "Jeez, Heero, we've been telling you to cut back on the hamburgers, but you never listen to us."

"I'll carry ya."

Heero gave Yuusuke a glare that spoke of death and dismemberment should he even _try_.

"Shut up and let the man carry you, Heero."

Kurama could feel the fog-creatures, could hear the click of their grinning teeth.

"Do not allow your pride to be detrimental to your safety or the safety of your teammates, Yuy."

"I don't really think _you've_ got room to talk about over-abundance of pride, Wufei."

"Shut up, Maxwell."

"Man, you guys are _adorable_ when you fight. Like puppies!"

Kurama sighed. Yuusuke was not helping things.

"Here." Trowa's voice was low, but pitched to cut through the fog and the sound of other voices. He was standing on the steps leading out of the water and to a shadowed doorway, wide enough that it made Kurama think of a cathedral.

"Don't shoot me," Yuusuke said, reaching for Heero. "Probably wouldn't work, anyway."

Heero didn't shoot Yuusuke, but from his expression, Kurama thought it was probably a near thing. They took off for the steps, and Trowa lead the way inside. At the threshold, Kurama turned and looked into the fog, in time to see the creatures melt away and disappear.

"Hey," Duo said from somewhere behind Kurama. "Do you get the feeling we were just…herded?"

Kurama pressed his lips into a line. He was always unhappy when he didn't know what was going on. It was a rare enough occurrence that it usually caught him off guard. It was this kind of arrogance, he thought with a small internal smirk, that kept getting him into trouble.

Fortunately, he was good at improvising.

"Ow!" Yuusuke yelped. "Stop poking me, dude."

The glare Yuy had fixed on Yuusuke's neck, which was the only thing he could see from the angle he was at, in Yuusuke's arms, was enough to drill holes through even Yuusuke's admittedly thick skin. Kurama had seen Yuusuke survive worse, however, so he tried not to worry.

Glass crunched underfoot as he turned around and took in their surroundings. It was a lobby, marble tiled and gold gilded and one whole wall that lead deeper into the building lined with slats of mirrors.

"Dude, _seriously_ , if you don't stop poking me, I'm gonna drop you on your head so many times you'll…well…trust me, it will be _bad_." After a moment, Yuusuke thought to add, "For you."

Duo snickered and wrung out the tip of his braid, which had soaked in the River.

Expensive real-wood chairs lay overturned and gutted, the crystalline chandelier slumped sideways on the floor, shattered. Quatre Winner's hair was a bright point in the dim light as he studied a fire-exit map near the opening of the hallway.

"It's Apex Hall," Winner said, making his way back to them. "Where we were last night."

"This place is in serious need of a pick-me-up." Yuusuke toed one of the over turned chairs.

"I agree." Winner brushed his hand over one of the columns, lingering on the long scratch marks. "Not that it doesn't have a certain end-of-the-world charm as is. It certainly wasn't this ruined when we last saw it."

"This destruction was deliberate." Wufei was circling the chandelier slowly, then stopped to look up the ceiling where it had been connected. "And…old." He frowned. "Though that isn't possible…"

"Try not to think too hard. That's what I do." Yuusuke ignored the dark look Wufei threw in his direction that clearly said the Asian man would do everything in his power to be as little like Yuusuke as possible. "Things are creepy and wrong. Just get over it, and try to solve the big problem without getting distracted by the details."

"What we need to know," Winner said, "is what are details and what are pieces of the bigger puzzle."

"Well, that's why we have you, psychic-man." Yuusuke grinned. "And Kurama. Any thoughts, Mr. Brains of the Operation?"

"First thing's first. Put Agent Yuy in the chair, please."

There was one chair against a wall, out of the general path of destruction that had remained mostly intact. Yuusuke dropped Yuy into it with relish that proved its stability. Kurama tried to quell him with a look, but Yuusuke just bounced on his toes and appeared completely unrepentant.

"What are you doing?" Duo asked.

"Seeing to Yuy's injuries. I have a feeling that they're only going to become more inconvenient as the day progresses. Do we have power?" Kurama didn't need that much light to see well, demon eyes making even moonlight like a sun to him, but it would still be easier if they had light, and it would certainly be better for the humans in his group.

Duo hesitated, eyes narrowed slightly as he looked Kurama over. Then he flicked a glance at Wufei and grinned. "I'll go check it out. Trowa? Back me up?"

The taller man, who'd been studying a chair whose legs had apparently been sawed off, straightened and nodded.

Wufei moved closer to Kurama and Yuy, making Kurama wonder if he should admire or feel exasperated by this group's persistent suspicion. Well, he supposed survival taught hard lessons, and he wasn't the most trusting person himself.

Duo, after a glance at the map on the wall, headed for the emergency door, whose sign was unlit, meaning both the primary and secondary power was out. Duo shoved the door open, produced a small but powerful penlight from one of his many pockets and shown it into the blackness.

Anxiety clenched Kurama's heart for just a moment. There were monsters about, even if he couldn't sense them. It felt fundamentally wrong to send children into the dark against them alone, even if they were well-armed children.

Then again, now that he was thinking of it, how many of them _were_ armed? Duo and Yuy certainly, but he hadn't seen any of the others produce weapons as of yet.

He shot a look at Yuusuke, who caught it in one of his perceptive moments, and pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against.

"I'll go."

He had to jog to catch up; the other two had already disappeared through the door.

"Yuusuke," Kurama said, and then paused. The moment back in the fog, when Yuusuke's reigun had failed to work, was sudden and clear in his mind.

Yuusuke, one hand on the doorframe, turned and grinned. "Don't worry."

And then it was just Kurama, and three people who didn't like or trust him, much. Wufei was a solid presence just off to the left and a step back from Kurama's line of vision. Yuy was a silent in front of him, which was rather surprising, actually.

Kurama glanced up, hand hovering over Yuy's ankle. "You're all right with this?"

Blue eyes regarded him with a sort of patience Kurama wouldn't have expected to find. "You're right. These injuries will slow me."

"Ah, yes."

"You can do something about them."

"I think so."

"You _think_ so?" This was Wufei, edged and cynical at his back.

"Healing is...not my specialty."

Wufei snorted.

"Chang," Heero said, and his gaze was much less patient as he shot the other Preventer a hard look.

Kurama could almost _feel_ Wufei roll his eyes, but he stepped away and allowed Kurama some room, moving to stand guard near the emergency exit. The steady eyes turned back to Kurama.

"Do something about them," Heero said, in a way that made Kurama want to salute with a "Yessir!" but he didn't think Heero would appreciate the humor, or even get it, really.

So he looked at the ankle in his hand, pale skin and strong bones and the elastic brace soaked through and gray with spirit water. He'd not really expected the Preventer's feet to be delicate-looking, long toes with nails neatly trimmed. He wasn't sure what he'd expected--feet that looked like combat boots, perhaps.

The calf had defined muscles, even relaxed as it was, fine hairs faint and light, tickled Kurama's palm as he ran his hand up Heero's shin, feeling for stress fractures unconsciously. It was a nice leg, Kurama thought, and if he said that out loud he was fairly certain he'd get up close and personal with the well-formed toes when Yuy kicked him in the face.

Time to focus.

Kurama took a breath and concentrated, and hoped this would work. Yuusuke hadn't been able to use his reigun, but Yuusuke's powers weren't subtle, and were clearly offensive. Kurama had been trying to feel out the shape of a kekkai or any other ki-seal. Though it was possible to create a power void in an area, it almost always left behind a recognizable ki-signature.

He'd felt nothing, but in this place, wherever they were, that didn't necessarily mean there _was_ nothing.

Still, he could hope that a small healing spell wouldn't trigger whatever power-suppressant they had fallen under. Kurama wasn't very good at healing, and the break in Yuy's collarbone might prove too complicated. If he healed it incorrectly, it would only be worse trying to fix it, later. But Yuy's ankle was only sprained, and that should be easy enough to fix.

He reached carefully for power--

--and it _hit_ him, like a bolt of pure ki, blazing fierce and orange and _alien_.

He must have shouted, because the sound of it was ringing in his ears.

"Kurama?"

Kurama's head jerked up, everything in him going cold at a voice that he only heard in distant memories and hazy dreams, anymore.

Kuwabara Kazuma sat in the chair where Yuy should have been. His skin was white, except for the bright red second smile carved under his chin, and the rust-dark old blood spilled down his tattered T-shirt. His face was blank, his eyes rotted and yellow, unseeing. But he tilted his head, a little obscene jerk of movement that opened the slit in his throat even wider and said, "Kurama?" in a voice so normal and curious that Kurama choked.

And then he realized he was still holding the ankle, a cold dead weight in his hands, and maggots were crawling up his fingers, over his wrists. He didn't scream. He didn't scream but he did fling the ankle away from himself and scramble back.

"Kurama?"

Kurama squeezed his eyes shut. "No!"

"Minamino, pull yourself together!"

It took Kurama a moment to register the voice, and then the name, and then he opened his eyes cautiously, and was speared without mercy on Yuy's hard look, and never felt more grateful to be chastised by someone a fraction of his age.

"I...there was..."

"Is everything all right over there?" Wufei asked cautiously.

Yuy looked to Kurama for an answer to that question. Kurama cleared his throat. "Yes. Everything is fine. And," he added, in a moment of slightly-hysterical humor, "how are things on your side?"

"...Fine. Winner and I... Winner?"

Kurama turned at the alarm in Wufei's voice just as the lights came up with a soft click and flicker and revealed that Quatre Winner was no where in sight.

* * *

# 3 - Jolt! 

Thank you everyone for your kind comments. I'm sorry I suck at replying. I still enjoy hearing from you!


	8. Romp: a Duo and Yuusuke Aside

Trowa was a shadow in the darkness, subtle and silent, moving swiftly along the wall, gun trained ahead and steady. The thin carpet helped muffle his footsteps, dress shoes hard-soled and difficult to walk quietly in, but he managed to keep betraying sound to a minimum. Shoulders still and movements smooth to cut down on the soft whisper of clothing, he ghosted down the hallway with cat-like grace.

The effect was rather ruined by his teammates.

"Sneak, sneak sneak," Yuusuke said with each tip-toeing step he took as he rounded the corner.

Duo followed shortly after, casual swagger making his combat boots thump on the floor. "I spy with my little eye...something black. Begins with...S."

Yuusuke tilted his head, pausing. "Shadows?"

"Right again!"

Duo threw a wink in Trowa's direction. The gun was gone, back in its holster. Armed with only a penlight, Duo had taken rearguard, leaving the scouting and stealth to Trowa. Duo was, apparently, much more content to hang back with Urameshi and trade snarky commentary or play inane road-trip games. Trowa, who couldn't have kept up with the rapid-fire conversation had he even wanted to, was more than happy to let him.

The wallpaper on this level was pealing, showing heavy water damage. Chips of cracked paint scraped lightly along Trowa's shoulders as he eased a look around another corner. This place seemed to have an infinite number of them, leading into increasingly dark hallways.

"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beeeeer!"

It was, perhaps, the fifth rendition of that song. Between the two of them, Duo and Yuusuke apparently only knew three songs in total, all of them repetitive, annoying, and about drinking. And neither of them could carry a tune, though they both delighted in out-shouting the other as off-key as possible.

The musty smell permeating the walls grew stronger as Trowa paced forward, mixing with a meaty rotten musk. Trowa wasn't the only shadow moving in the dark anymore.

He went still, blending his outline with a tall table and lamp. Then eased one hand off his gun and snapped twice. The singing behind him got louder. Trowa held his breath.

"...take one down and pass it around--fifty-three bottles of beer on the wall!"

"Weren't we in the sixties?"

"Hey, you know...when you've had _that_ much to drink, you don't really care about semantics."

"About who-what?"

They moved in packs of five, white skin gleaming in the offshoot of luminescence from Duo's penlight. Swift and hunting and vaguely human-looking, though their legs were too short and their arms were too long, their heads misshapen, like clay figures not quite complete.

Three inch claws sunk into the walls as one climbed up and onto the ceiling in two fast leap-jumps.

One landed on the table next to Trowa, hard enough to rattle the lamp. Trowa kept still, gun already braced at shoulder level, and considered the eyeless visage as it leaned a little closer.

He wasn't sure how they tracked prey, but he knew they had trouble finding him if he held still.

This one wasn't any different. It made a sound--high-pitched giggle choking into a lower chuckle, deep in its throat. Then it leapt, and Trowa used the arc of its own movement to disguise his as he dropped smoothly and spun. When it landed three feet away from him, he shot it in the back of the head.

Heading for the light and noise of Duo and Urameshi, the other four spun, and the sound they made--like animals screaming in agony--sent a shudder through Trowa, but it didn't stop him from shooting another one.

Duo darted in, braid a ripple of movement behind him, and knifed one before spinning and slashing another across the throat. Urameshi finished the last one off with a punch that shattered the creature's head.

"Ew," Urameshi said in the following silence, studying the muck on his hand. Their blood was thick and purple. "Skull bits."

Duo cleaned his blade and then the knife disappeared again as he grinned, the feral-dark in his eyes fading into cheerfulness. "Two for me. Two for Trowa. You're falling behind, Urameshi."

"Bite me."

"I'm not that kinky."

"Fine, then kiss me."

"Not when you're covered in monster guts."

"Picky picky."

Trowa did a compulsive mental check of his remaining ammunition. With Duo's added in, it still only left him with two clips and the half currently loaded. Not a lot, considering the number of enemies they'd encountered so far.

Duo stretched, hid a wince, and made a face at the body at his feet. It was melting, slowly. "You fight these guys all the time?"

Urameshi shrugged. "Sure. I mean, not these guys but other things like them. I've never seen these guys. Hey, do you think their blood is acidic? Lot of demons have acidic blood. I don't know why."

Duo jerked his foot away from a spreading pool. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"I didn't think of it sooner."

"I doubt it's acidic," Trowa said. "We'd have noticed by now."

Though he'd meant to reassure, he realized he needn't have bothered. Neither of the other two were listening. Urameshi just grinned and stepped down hard enough to make the purple sludge splash a little in Duo's direction. "What, are ya chicken?"

"Ew! Trowa, make him stop!" The over-emphasized whine and the way Duo staggered melodramatically in his direction made Trowa realize this was teasing.

It took him a moment to switch gears. Then he said, "Don't make me turn this mission around."

It came out a bit awkwardly, but Duo still beamed at him like he was personally responsible for Trowa's attempt at humor, though Trowa doubted it was really that funny.

"Nah, we can't go back now," Duo said, aiming the light further down the hall. "We've come too far."

"And it's not like we can _go_ back," Urameshi added, facing the way they'd come, which was now blocked by a wall--paint rough with age, as if it had been there forever.

Trowa didn't let himself worry or think about getting back. His goal was forward--he hoped, though he couldn't be sure anymore. But Duo kept going like he knew exactly where he was, and Trowa had learned to trust those instincts.

Which is why he felt less reassured when, a moment later, there was a shout of alarm, a cracking-crashing sound, and Duo dropped out of sight as the floor beneath him gave way. Urameshi was moving before the splash and gasping-curses of Duo landing somewhere below even settled. He knelt at the edge of the hole without regard for structural integrity, and peered down into the gloom. Trowa followed, a bit slower, testing the ground as he walked.

"Oi!" Urameshi called. "You all right, down there?"

"Well..." Duo called back. "I'm wet."

Urameshi grinned. "Sexy."

"Not really. I'm trying not to look too hard at this water. I'm _hoping_ it's water."

Urameshi refused to be any less cheerful. "Tasty!"

Trowa holstered his gun, knelt and leaned over carefully, hands curled around the ragged edges of wood. "Can you see a way up?"

"Lost the light." There were sounds of splashing, searching, rippling wet noises that made Trowa think the water was at least up to Duo's knees. "I don't know, I think I've found a whole other level. Maybe this is the basement."

"If it's the basement," Trowa reasoned, "then the fuse controls should be down there."

Urameshi hopped to his feet. "Move over, I'm coming down!"

And without any more warning, he jumped into the hole. Trowa counted the beats until Yuusuke landed, and judged a twenty-foot drop. Easy enough, since the water cushioned the fall. Neither of them should be very hurt.

"Come on down, green-eyes!" Urameshi's voice floated up. "The water's fine!"

"Don't listen to him, Trowa," Duo countered immediately. "Mutant alligators are spawning in my hair as we speak."

Though he knew Duo didn't lie, he hoped this was one of his fellow pilot's truth-stretching moments. Either way, he didn't have much choice. He took off his holster and held it above his head, then jumped.

The landing was slick, and it was pitch-black. Trowa caught himself and paused to find his balance, grinding his toes down to ease through the grit and find purchase on the solid bottom. Keeping his gun and ammunition from getting wet was his first priority. Everything else--the chill-cold of the water, the metal creaking and sporadic _thunk_ that sounded like a gigantic machine, the smell of old-death, the sound of someone humming an off-key tune--was secondary.

When he was stable, he pulled the shoulder-holster back on and drew the gun cautiously, letting his eyes adjust. The singing had words, now.

"The wind, they say, it is a song that bids the soul to enter..."

That was a new one. Not something he'd heard in Duo's repertoire before.

"Let us sail the seas my friend, let us sail together..."

The floor, he realized, was lit very faintly--blue fluorescents at odd intervals, circular and solid glass like pool lights. Most of them burnt out, but enough to see by as long as he wasn't looking for details. That was Urameshi's shape ahead, he realized. The young man studying something nailed high on a wall. And as Trowa moved toward him, Urameshi turned his head and spoke to a Duo-shape. Which meant--

It wasn't Duo's voice singing beside him.

Trowa spun, gun coming up and aiming.

The figure beside him hummed another verse, smiling pleasantly, though the look was ruined by the hole through his head where the bullet had hit. But even with that damage, and even with the bloated skin that distorted aristocratic features, and decomposition that had made most of the pale blond hair fall out, Trowa still recognized him.

Barton, Heavyarms' original pilot.

"The singer lasts the season long, but the song, it lasts forever."

* * *

# 5 - "ano sa" ("hey, you know...") 


	9. Romp II

A bullet to the back felt a lot different than a punch through the heart, or a ki blast to the ribs, but it knocked Yuusuke breathless just the same. And then he was falling face first into knee deep water, arms out to break his fall. He hit and went under, and the water was a lot deeper than it'd seemed while he'd been standing in it. Colder, too, or maybe that was just his extremities going numb.

He analyzed the wound with a calmness he rarely felt when he wasn't dying. The bullet had caught and lodged behind a rib, having traveled at an angle that he was sure chipped a vertebrae and nicked the heart. The pain felt like a tunnel of broken glass through his chest, grating up the back of his throat where he tasted blood, slick and sweet.

Something drifted over his cheek--light touch with a soft scrape of nails, and a delicate hand cupped his chin. Botan always smelled of flowers, like a burial--grass and earth and gardenia. He knew she was there before she turned his head so he could look at her. He'd been expecting her, not finding it strange that he could scent her even under water.

What he wasn't expecting were the flat black eyes, like a shark, and a toothy grin to match, her pink kimono shredded in long strips and drifting around her like seaweed. As she pulled him closer the tendrils closed around them with a sentient will he might have found interestingly kinky under different circumstances.

It occurred to him that he should probably start struggling right about now.

He kicked out, and twisting pain tried to paralyze him, but he ignored it. He had issues hitting girls in the face, but a solid foot in the gut did just as well. The blow landed in slow motion, like one of those dreams where you can't move, but Yuusuke shoved hard and if he didn't succeed in hurting her, much, he at least managed to put distance between them.

Then he clawed toward the surface. Felt a hand close over his ankle.

Heard, "I'm going to put you in the hell you deserve," whisper-soft, near his ear, with the cold touch of lips like a corpse's kiss, in a voice that wasn't Botan's at all.

Female, but not Botan. Familiar, but long gone from Yuusuke's life. For a moment, old grief was more painful than a bullet wound, and remembrance sweet in the back of his throat like blood.

Like the flowers at his wedding. And at her funeral.

He lashed back without looking, afraid to look, and broke to the surface of the water...

...and woke up. Someone had propped him up against a wall that was both cold and slimy, and his first thought, after he jerked upright and reoriented himself was, "Ew."

The goo made a wet-sticky sound as he pulled away from the metal. He could feel it plastering down the hair on the back of his head and smeared along one ear and cheek where his head had lolled to one side. It smelled of rot and mold. He made an attempt to wipe some of it off on his shoulder--but he was soaked through with unclean water, so that just made things worse.

He looked around to ask if anyone had anything dry and clean or at least one out of two, and then ducked to one side on instinct, his mind blank until the splash of a dagger sinking into water beside him made him realize someone had nearly killed him _again_.

"Goddammit, would you _stop_ that?" he said to the dark figure crouched just out of a harsh fall of light.

Yuusuke was sitting on a metal ramp rising out of the water on a gentle angle, one foot still submerged, like someone had hauled him far enough to prop him up, check on him, and give him up for lost. Yuusuke would bet money it was the person who'd just tried to introduce his brain to the business end of a throwing knife.

"That was a lousy angle anyway," Yuusuke added, gathering his feet under him. "You missed _and_ you lost a weapon."

"Sorry," the figure said without remorse, and he was close enough to the light that it reflected off a grin that made Yuusuke remember shark-Botan and flinch a little. The smile confirmed it was Braids, though. "This place makes me twitchy."

"No kidding. I'm going to stand up, now. If you try to kill me again, I'm going to punch you in the face."

Braids watched him, or at least paused in the dark long enough for Yuusuke to get up, and then said, "You were dead."

Yuusuke shrugged, waded back into the water a bit. "How do you figure?"

"You weren't breathing. You had no pulse."

"People can not breathe and have no pulse, and still come back from it."

"For _twenty minutes_."

Yuusuke bent down and fished Braids' knife out of the water, slogging back up the ramp. "Okay, fine. Well, I don't know how to explain not breathing. But I don't have a pulse _normally_, so we're going to have to work out some other signal for the whole, 'I'm not dead yet!' thing."

Braids was still and watchful, and perfectly at home in the dark, his eyes and teeth a hard gleam. "Smoke signals?"

Yuusuke considered that as he stepped into the light, keeping his voice deliberately cheerful. "I'm not sure I can burst into flame on cue. Not without Hiei."

Braids didn't ask who Hiei was, just studied him with eyes as flat blue as steel. Whatever they saw must have been satisfactory, because the edgy teeth-baring grin softened slightly into a smirk. "No pulse, huh? Wanna explain how _that_ works?"

"You'll have to ask Kurama. Something to do with dying twice and coming back partially demonic."

"Sounds like a hell of a story."

"Apocalyptic."

Braids blinked. "You've been waiting to say that for a while, haven't you?"

"Years."

"Hey, if we get out of this, I have this doctor friend I haven't pranked in a while..."

"You're on." Yuusuke handed Braids his knife back and glanced around.

Behind Braids there was a metal staircase, leading up into gloom, and at Braids' feet was Bangs, unconscious but breathing, a trickle of blood tracing his temple, down cheek and chin. Braids himself smelled of violence and gunpowder, and though it no longer seemed he was ready to stab Yuusuke out of hand, Yuusuke could recognize battle mode when he saw it.

"Where are we?"

"About fifty yards from where we were."

Yuusuke looked back, searching the gloom behind him for familiarity and saw none. "You dragged us both that far?"

"_Chased_ Trowa half that length. Went back for you. Floated you, mostly, so it wasn't bad."

"Your friend..." Yuusuke began.

"We're not leaving him."

Yuusuke held up his hands; the cold immobility of Braids' voice would have probably deterred him from protesting even if he'd had objections. "I was going to offer to carry him."

Braids relaxed a fraction.

"And also point out that he _shot me_," Yuusuke added. "And if that's, you know, i normal /i how can I avoid it in the future?"

"It's not normal." Braids knelt, a smooth movement, and touched his left hand to Bangs' forehead. The right hand stayed out, knife ready. "I don't know what happened, but that wasn't---It wasn't Trowa."

Yuusuke turned that over in his mind for a moment, wondering if he should demand more of an explanation or at least an apology. An explanation, he decided, would be wasted on him. He'd save that for when they met up with Kurama again. Sympathy, however, should be milked for all it was worth.

"He _shot_ me," Yuusuke reemphasized, putting a little whine into it.

The little smirk Braids gave him made Yuusuke realize he wasn't fooling anyone, "And you're all right, so buck up." The Braids paused. "You _are_ fine, right?"

"I'm so fine I'm _hot_." Yuusuke flexed for show and barely winced.

Duo grinned, standing. "Pick up Trowa and let's go, Lame Innuendo Man."

"Oi! That was _not_ lame. I can do much lamer."

"I believe you." Braids turned with a flip of hair toward the stairs. Yuusuke grumbled, checked Bangs for consciousness, and then threw him over one shoulder with a small grimace. The bullet wound was almost healed, but the bullet itself was grinding against Yuusuke's rib like a pebble in his shoe, if the pebble had been fire-hot and had razor blade edges.

Braids was already up the stairs, combat boots silent on metal steps. Yuusuke walked without bothering to mask the sound of it. Demons could track by heartbeat, so no matter how soft their steps were, monsters were likely to find them, if there were any in the area. Yuusuke didn't know how ghosts hunted, but he doubted being quiet made any difference with them, either.

Bangs was heavier than expected, but not heavy enough to slow Yuusuke down. And despite lingering pain, he was nearly back to full mobility. He considered whistling, just to draw attention to himself and away from Braids, but decided that would be too obnoxious, even for him.

Up ahead, there was a jump in Braids' pulse--not a big one. Just a little, "What the--?" skitter of rhythm, and a scrape of boot to let Yuusuke know he'd stopped. Polite, but Yuusuke didn't need it.

"What's up?"

"Something...on the walls."

Yuusuke stopped one step below Braids, and studied the darker shadow on the wall, which became clearer when he remembered he had demon night vision. Then it took shape, became not just a dark smear but cloth--a girl's school uniform, bolted to the wall, hanging in folds as if an emaciated body still filled it out, though there was nothing inside but a long dark stain Yuusuke didn't want to look at too closely. The smell of gardenia cloying in the air.

Yuusuke didn't have an eye for detail, or much memory for little things he didn't find important, but he recognized Keiko's school uniform instantly.

"Keep going?" Braids asked.

Yuusuke looked back down the steps. "Not much choice."

The water had risen. It was steadily climbing the steps behind them, swallowing what faint light they had.

Yuusuke and Braids looked at each other, then turned and continued climbing the steps.

* * *

# 11 - gardenia 


	10. Romp III: Final

Duo believed in ghosts. Maybe not full-blown, grab a candle and join the séance circle belief, but in a more--hey I've killed a lot of people, and if anything lingers afterward it's probably a good idea to be polite about it--way. Duo got the sense his traveling partner believed in ghosts, too, and for a lot less philosophical reasons. It was apparent in the way this dark-mirror reality failed to faze him much.

"Hey, Bui, how's it hanging?"

Plus, he kept addressing the ghosts by name.

"Bui", gray-skinned with a mouth full of shark-teeth, took a swipe at Yuusuke, growling wordlessly. Sightless, rotting eye sockets, the hollows writhing with maggots, locked unerringly on Yuusuke though they couldn't have possibly have seen him. Black claws sliced air just an inch from Yuusuke's nose, and the ghost-thing writhed, but couldn't get closer. Its torso sunk into the wall, legs missing entirely, pinned it pretty well in place.

Yuusuke stood against the hand rail on the right side of the stairs. They found that if they pressed themselves close to the metal they were just out of reach. Five steps down, the previous monster gave a final shriek and shudder and melted back into shadows. Five steps up, the next stain on the wall bubbled and long black fingers slid out, followed by an arm, like someone pushing their way through from the other side.

"Suzaku!" Yuusuke said as they passed, cheerful. "You're a little worse for wear."

Being paired with Yuusuke made the mission both more unnerving and more relaxing. On the one hand, Duo could've lived his whole life without knowing the names of the creatures they passed. On the other hand, Yuusuke made everything seem like a particularly insane guided tour of hell, rather than a journey through a shadowy nightmare.

"And on your left," Duo murmured, "you'll see the wrathful drowning continuously under the murky waters of the river Styx. Have your cameras ready!"

"What?" Yuusuke asked.

"Nothing."

Duo kept his eyes forward, stifling the desire to turn around and check on the other two every couple of steps. Trusting Yuusuke to watch his back was fine. Trusting Yuusuke with Trowa was something else all together. And despite his best efforts, the darkness and the monsters were getting to him. It made him itch for a weapon with more distance than his knives. He wished the rest of the ammunition hadn't gotten wet when Trowa had gone crazy.

It also bothered him that Trowa had gone crazy. And, yeah, he was worried and concerned for his friend, but on an even more fundamental level, it was alarming.

Trowa was the sanest person Duo knew. If this place could make _Trowa_ go mad, there wasn't much hope for the rest of them.

"I hope there's no one around when Heero loses it," Duo muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing." But then, "Actually, how good _is_ Kurama at ducking bullets?"

"Kurama? Don't know. Hiei can dodge 'em no problem. But I've never seen Kurama try. He's more 'prevent' than 'provoke' you know?" There was a thoughtful pause, and then, suspicion. "Why are you asking?"

"I was thinking about going crazy."

"Right now?"

"No." Duo grinned. "Maybe soon. Trowa did."

"Yeah, no kidding. Hey, if you go bonkers, don't shoot me, okay? Once is enough in a day."

"I won't."

"Thanks."

"No bullets."

"...yeah, okay."

"I'd have to stab you." Duo could feel his smile spread, growing thinner like a blade, like the edge of his knife pressed against the skin of his thumb, pressure until it broke through and there was blood and faint pain. Not enough.

Duo stopped, eyes still forward, on the next patch of faint light, the next smear on the wall, the stairs that went endlessly upward.

"I think I'm going crazy."

"Yeah? Well, do it while you're walking, would you? Multitask. My heels are getting wet."

Duo could hear the monster behind them drowning. The water was rising faster. He started up the steps again, and tried not to get lost in the dark. It should have been easy enough, since their path was a straight line.

"You're bleeding," Yuusuke said.

Duo lifted this thumb to his mouth and tasted blood. "You could tell?"

"I can smell it. It'll attract demons."

"Like sharks."

"Yeah, I guess."

"In the water."

Rubber soles thumped on metal as they walked, hollow and loud in the absolute quiet.

"Okay, now you're just creeping me out," Yuusuke said.

Duo bit down, felt pain, a little less distant this time, and tried to find something lighter to say, something that would convince both Yuusuke and himself that he was still rational. "We're probably already insane."

Not exactly what he'd been going for.

He tried again. "You'd think it'd be more fun."

Yuusuke was silent for a long moment, before a definitive, "Nah," drifted up to Duo. "Have you ever _been_ crazy, before?"

Duo thought, and rifled through memories he didn't look at very often. "Maybe."

"I have. You know the difference between then and now?"

"What?"

"There's a lot more blood when I go crazy." There were fangs in that statement--the real kind, not cheap and plastic and Halloween-vampire. Even with his back turned to Yuusuke, Duo could feel it. "What about you?"

Duo remembered rage and fire and the cool-easy feeling of a knife in his fist. "Same."

"So, there you go. We're not crazy. Not yet."

"You'll let me know if that changes, right?"

"I'll try to give you fair warning."

"Will something spontaneously burst into flame?"

"Fire's not really my thing. I just hit shit."

Duo blinked. That was it? "What kind of demon are you?"

Yuusuke bristled. "I'm the kind that hits shit."

"Can't you at least try to devour my soul?"

"No! Okay? I just--"

"Tempt me to evil?"

"Suck my cock. That evil enough for you?"

Duo spun and, walking backwards and without breaking stride, smacked Yuusuke upside the head, and then turned back around and kept going.

"OW!"

"What?"

"You why the hell did you _hit_ me?"

"What are you _talking_ about? You must be going crazy."

Yuusuke walked on Duo's heels on purpose. Duo stumbled and grinned, and wished he could be more cheerful about it, but when he'd looked into the water behind Yuusuke he was pretty sure he'd seen something in there. Staring back.

"Hey," Duo said. "If I _do_ go crazy, just take Trowa and run, all right?"

"No promises." Yuusuke's answer came without hesitation. "Besides, if it ever comes down to trusting _me_ to be the brains of this operation, I have to tell you right now that we're fucked."

And then the stairs ended.

Duo almost staggered, pulled to an abrupt stop, and Yuusuke bumped into him, propelling them both forward onto the short platform. It was just a bit larger than the door it lead to, which was eggshell white painted metal, bright under the emergency light.

Duo tested the handle, found it locked, dropped to his knees and got them wet in the water that was already creeping over the floor. He pulled out his jammer and lockpick.

"Duck!" Was the only warning Duo got, before Yuusuke kicked the door in.

Duo put his tools away and stood up.

"I know that look," Yuusuke said with a grin. "Kurama gives me that look all the time."

There was a splash behind them, and then another, soft like a footfall. Both Yuusuke and Duo spun around, to see something climbing up the last step, long hair straggling, kimono dark with water and ragged.

Yuusuke sucked in a breath and took a step forward, "Botan--"

"What the hell are you--!" Duo grabbed Yuusuke's collar and pulled him back hard, sending them both backwards into the room beyond the door. "You really _are_ crazy!"

"She's a friend!" Yuusuke snapped, and his arm tightened around Trowa and the look in his eyes said, I_ carried **your** friend without whining about it **once**_!

Duo felt guilty, glancing back at the girl that was drawing closer. It was possible she was just hurt. She could need help.

The sound of metal dragging against metal made Duo glance down.

She was carrying a scythe. And when she lifted her head to look at them, her grin and flat black eyes sent chills through Duo. He shot Yuusuke an incredulous look. Yuusuke took a step back and shut the door.

In the pitch dark, there was the sound of Yuusuke jiggling the handle. "Lock's broke," he announced.

"Yeah, _whose_ fault is that?" Duo flicked on his pen light and looked around. Yuusuke was leaning against the door with one hand, the other keeping Trowa steady, and there was a solid bench beside him. He stuck his light in his mouth, walked around to one side and shoved it over.

"Think furniture keeps out a grim reaper?" Yuusuke asked, eyes on the door.

"I hope so. There isn't much else to stop her."

"Yeah."

The other side of the door was silent. There was water on the floor here, too, up around their ankles, but it didn't seem to be rising higher.

"You'll notice I didn't ask about the 'grim reaper' bit."

"Not really."

"It's because I don't want to know."

Water dripped, somewhere, over Duo's shoulder. It was still dark but for the spot of Duo's penlight, which was directly on the door. The door was wrong--completely different from what it looked like on the outside. It was wooden, heavy-looking, tall and arched at the top. As long as it didn't grow a monster or turn into writhing snakes, Duo supposed it was alright.

"Is she really a grim reaper?"

"Yep." Yuusuke drew the word out on a casual note, and didn't take his eyes off the door.

"All right," Duo said. "Think I've got time to look around before she kicks the door in and devours our souls?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Do grim reapers need to use doors?"

Not a comforting thought.

"I'll stand here and keep watch," Yuusuke concluded, turning to lift Trowa off his shoulder and settle him on another long bench. "Whatever you're doing, do it quick."

Duo nodded and checked on Trowa, who was cool to the touch, but breathing, pulse steady. Not dead, and that was high on Duo's list of Things To Be Happy About. Even if he would have been happier had Trowa been conscious.

It was as he was leaning over the other boy, glancing at what his light illuminated, that he saw the Bible, tucked neatly into slot allotted on the back of the bench in front of the one Duo leaned on. And Duo realized it wasn't a bench--it was a pew. They were in a church.

"Sure," Duo said, pushing upright slowly. "Why not?"

The church was small and, but for the silt-thick water on the floor--clean. Worn but well taken care of. Duo sloshed down the aisle to the right, penlight skittering over the stone walls and pillars. The confessionals were in a corner near the front.

Someone was crying--a low, muffled sound. Duo froze, penlight pausing on the moth-eaten canvas curtain of a confessional booth. His stance sank and centered. His grip on his knife shifted and settled.

"Hello?" Duo used Preventer Voice. His "hey, I'm friendly, but in charge" voice. "Who's there?"

_If this were a scary movie_ Duo thought, _saying that would ensure that it's a monster, and it's going to eat me_.

...

_Duo, you idiot, this **is** a scary movie._

Approaching the booth quickly but cautiously, Duo said, "But I'm the badass hero, so I _totally_ get to survive until the end." And flicked the curtain open.

Revealing nothing. Except a wall of fuses and switches--the main power controls.

"Right, like I'm going to fall for that one."

The darkness and the empty confessional had nothing to say.

"Dammit."

Despite misgivings, and "it's a goddamned trap you moron" warning bells, Duo put the knife away and stepped into the booth. Closer inspection revealed an uncomplicated system. Resetting it a simple matter of shutting all the sub-sections off, then the main switch, and then turning them all back on again in reverse order. Duo put the penlight in his mouth and went to work.

Halfway through turning them back on, someone tugged hard on his braid. Duo spun, and there was a shriek of laughter from the emptiness behind him, the sound of small feet running away. His head thumped back against the wall, glancing off a pointed switch.

"Fuck!"

The penlight clattered to the floor.

Scolding, "Duo!"

"Sorry, Father," Duo muttered automatically, rubbing the back of his head. Then he lowered his hand slowly, heart thumping once in his throat, eyes skittering to the side, where the screen separated the two parts of the booth.

There was the shadow of a person on the other side. The jerky motion of the head, accompanied by the _snick-crack_ of broken bones rubbing together as the shadow turned its head made Duo think he didn't want to look any closer.

"Hello, my son."

It seemed Yuusuke wasn't the only one today to name his dead.

"Hey there, Father." Duo had never had first-hand interaction with ghosts before, but he'd once thought about it long enough to come to the conclusion that if he should ever meet one, he'd at least try to be polite. "How are you doing?"

"Tired. And worried."

"Worried?" Duo's eyes skittered to the fuses. "About what?"

"You. I haven't seen you in a while. All the other children ask where you've gone."

"Yeah. Sorry about that." He reached for the next one, and found he couldn't move. He glanced back at the figure behind the screen. He could see the gleam of teeth.

"Isn't it time you come home, my son?"

If he concentrated, he could curl his hand, one finger at a time, into a fist. "Uh, I don't think that's the greatest idea, Father."

"You don't?"

Duo's arm shook with the strain of raising it. "No, I really really don't." He flicked the next switch, but couldn't reach the one after that before his arm was dragged down again.

"Don't you miss us, Duo?"

Outside, there was an explosion, the percussive pressure rocking through him, deafening him for a moment, and he would've flinched, would have ducked for cover instinctively if he'd been able to move. Children were screaming. Duo pulled in a lungful of stale, recycled air--colony air, tasting gunpowder and ashes on the back of his tongue.

"I do miss you, Father."

Duo closed his eyes, and thought of how he would explain failing the mission to Heero, who probably had no patience for ghosts, who could probably deal with ghosts and do the mission at the same time, who would not acknowledge "ghosts" as a viable excuse for a task unaccomplished.

Wufei might understand better--it was difficult to tell what Wufei would find acceptable and what he would scoff at, those pesky old-school Traditions and upper class Etiquette flaring up at the strangest times.

Trowa might not understand, but he wouldn't judge. He'd log whatever Duo said away, and pull it out should _he_ ever have to deal with ghosts--or pretend to become one.

And Quatre would just blink and factor it into his overall plan. "I see," Quatre would say. "I'll have my research team to look into that. In the meantime, stick close to Heero or Wufei. They're scarier than most demonized shadows of the past." Or something. Quatre would be a little more articulate about it.

"I miss you," Duo repeated. "But there are people here I would miss more if I died."

"Haven't you been searching for a way back to us?" Father's voice had taken on a hard edge, demanding. "Didn't you spend the entire war seeking a way to death?"

Duo felt a cold smile curve his lips. "I would never go looking for death."

"No?"

"No." Duo opened his eyes, and looked directly at the shadow on the other side. "She comes to me."

Then there was no screen between them, no wall at all, everything was rubble and smoke and fire, but Duo was still standing, and so was the shadow--a terrible parody of Father Maxwell, with night-black eyes and twisted limbs. The thing surged forward. Duo brought his knife to bear with the flick of his wrist--he could manage that much at least.

The thing stopped, just short of impaling itself on Duo's blade, and pressed closer. Duo watched the point dimple black fabric over the thing's chest. It leaned closer, until it could whisper in Duo's ear.

"There are thousands of us. How many have you killed? We'll shred your soul to pieces. You won't be able to stop us."

Duo's witty comeback was to throw everything into a final punch forward, the knife sliding between ribs and slamming home. Pain ripped up his shoulder, sank into his neck and head.

He felt a brush of lips against his forehead like a benediction.

The lights came up.

Duo blacked out.

#20 - the road home


	11. Cat's Cradle

Kurama contemplated the long drop down with mild curiosity. "How far away would you guess the ground to be?"

Agent Yuy didn't answer, even though he could hardly have failed to hear, with his foot near Kurama's ear and his head pressing against Kurama's leg. They were tangled in a vine web, which had been hastily constructed out of a few spare seeds to keep them from falling the undisclosed but likely considerable distance to a messy death--if there was any floor at all, anymore. Kurama couldn't tell. Even with his demon sight, almost everywhere he looked was formless dark.

"Hey!" That was Chang, somewhere above Kurama's head, still on solid ground--at least for the moment. Until just a few seconds ago, Kurama and Heero had been walking with him down the same hallway. "Are you alive?"

Kurama tried to tilt his head up, and failed, so his answer was pitched more at Yuy's toes than to the other Preventer. "Yes, thank you."

"Yuy?" Chang's voice shifted, grew a little more distinct, as if he'd knelt and was peering over the side.

"Functional," Yuy answered, the vibration of his voice tickling the back of Kurama's thigh.

"Injuries?"

"Still stable."

"Any way back up?"

There was a pause. Kurama, who was quietly keeping track of syllables, trying to see who was more succinct between the two soldiers, almost jumped when he felt Yuy poke him in the side.

"Oh! No," Kurama answered, "not at the moment."

The webbing itself wasn't very strong. Whatever hampered his power in this place didn't completely block non-offensive ki, but it didn't make it easy, either. At the moment, the net was holding Kurama and Heero like a cocoon against the metal wall, but if Kurama tried to refocus his ki and grow a way up, everything might fall apart, and Kurama said as much.

"All right," Wufei's voice shifted again as he stood. "Keep movement to a minimum. I'll be back."

"Wait!" Kurama twisted, trying to see up the steel cliff, as if that might stop Chang from leaving. Heero grunted as Kurama's knee pressed into his side. "Where are you going?"

"To find a rope," Wufei said with a silent "you idiot" tacked on the end.

"I don't think that's wise. This may sound strange, but this place is probably sentient. It's trying to separate us on purpose."

"That is the least strange thing you've said all day," the Preventer said, dryly.

"Agent Chang..."

"I'll be back. Yuy?"

Heero didn't answer, but he did shift as if to get a better look at above.

"Do your best not to die in the meantime."

Heero snorted.

"Oh, and Yuy? Don't kill the civilian, either."

"We'll be here when you get back, Agent Chang," Kurama said, flatly.

"Yes yes," Wufei agreed, so blandly amiable it could be nothing but sardonic.

Then he was gone, and Kurama was left to contemplate Agent Yuy's toes. His eyes were adjusting, but details were still dim.

"Your ankle looks better," he said, expecting the silence and not put off by it. "How's your arm?"

"Functional."

"Mm." Kurama's bangs were tangled in his lashes and his arms were pinned so there was no easy way of removing them. He blinked, then shook his head slightly to dislodge long strands, and when that failed he almost wished he'd given in to the stylist who'd suggested a buzz cut two weeks back. "And the pain level?"

"Manageable."

Being still didn't suit Kurama well. He tested his netting with a subtle flex and then initiated a slow twist, trying to free at least one arm. But the vines were Makai--predators in their own right, and the more he tried to move, the more they tightened. Minimal ki meant limited ability to control them, so in the end, he had to stop in only a slightly less awkward position, something pressing hard and cold against the small of his spine.

"Is that your gun or are you just happy to--"

"It's my gun."

Kurama's lips quirked. "Who taught you that joke?"

There was a very faint light source far overhead, not bright enough to pick out Yuy's expression as he went still for a moment, and then muttered. "Maxwell."

"Ah." Kurama poked a vine carefully with a tendril of ki, and the hard metal jerked sideways a bit. "Hold on a moment, and I may be able to get your gun back to you."

"The safety is off."

"I'm not going to shoot myself." Makai vegetation creaked in the silence. "Or you."

"You should concentrate on maintaining the integrity of this net."

"Are you saying I can't multitask?"

"I'm not questioning your abilities." There were serious, dark eyebrows drawn down in that statement. "But your energy is finite and--"

"Is this your knee?" Kurama's fingertips brushed against the thin cotton of hospital clothes.

"...Yes."

"I'm contemplating biting it."

"...Your current position would prohibit--"

"I'm sure I could find a way."

"That would be a waste of both effort and time."

"Yes, but kinks are rarely deterred by logical argument."

Yuy lapsed into silence, probably glaring in his general vicinity, and Kurama continued to work his weapon back to him, wondering if he were making a mistake.

"...You're teasing," Yuy said, finally.

"Yes," Kurama said. "It took you long enough to notice."

Yuy shifted his weight, and there was a whisper of skin on cloth as he turned his head to look away. "It's difficult to tell, without visual clues."

"Tone of voice?"

Faint light outlined Yuy's shoulders as he shrugged.

"Take your gun," Kurama said.

Yuy did.

Absence of light and most sound meant that everything became tactile. Vines pulled at him, a slow, coarse-haired twist against his legs and wrists, and if Yuusuke had been here, he would undoubtedly have had something to say about the possibility of tentacle porn.

Yuy was human heat and heartbeat--not something Kurama was used to, anymore. He had not had close mortal friends in decades. No one he needed to watch over, to make sure they were still breathing.

Yuy was breathing, for the moment, with the steady consistency of a machine, without any hitch at all to betray what Kurama was sure was a great deal of pain from his cracked collar bone. Kurama's own cast was just a hindrance, now, the bone healed and whole. He'd have to find a way to remove it, once they were back on stable ground. If Chang ever made it back.

Kurama closed his eyes against worrying for teenage soldiers, turned his head and brushed his lips over the fine prickles on a length of vine, just to feel the bristles and faint burn.

"How long?" Yuy asked.

"Hmm?"

"How long before the net gives out?"

"I'm tougher than I look."

"How. Long."

Kurama slitted his eyes open and frowned at the shadow of Heero. "I would worry more about the wall suddenly disappearing."

"No."

"No?"

"No. This place has a pattern."

Kurama blinked, straightened as much as current position would allow, and said, "What?"

"There's a pattern. The wall won't disappear. Something will come after us, first."

"Oh good. Good to know. Any idea what--"

The vines were sunk as deep into the wall as they could go, so Kurama sensed a small tremor first, before he heard a low moan, up through the metal. He frowned, pressed back a little. Vines creaked. Yuy used his bad arm to haul himself upright, so he could train his gun on darkness.

There was something pushing out of the walls, sending shivers through the netting. Cold hit Kurama, dissipating the heat and making the heartbeat beside him stutter. But Heero's gun was steady, even when the roots began to shrivel and the first vines snapped.

Kurama gritted his teeth and pulled more power, trying to keep the web intact.

Then it struck, like a punch to the head, orange-white ki and a familiar presence that made Kurama's heart clench.

"Kurama," Kuwabara said, somewhere in the darkness. "Kurama," Kuwabara said, and a hand closed around Kurama's throat--no pulse, no heat, but it was recognizable just the same. Kurama was trapped in vines, a frigid wind tearing through his hair, and somewhere in the dark, a person long dead was calling his name.

The scent of old blood, and mud and withered reiki pressed against the back of his throat, as a shadow moved closer, through vines as if they weren't there, balanced as if there were ground to stand on, and pressed lips to Kurama's ear. "Fall."

The gunshot deafened; a shadow near Kurama exploded; Kuwabara was gone and Heero was fighting free of hungry Makai wildlife which was still desperately trying to hold itself and them to the side of a sheer metal cliff.

"--fall!" Heero shouted, over the wind and the sound of screaming, most of his words torn apart.

"What?"

The Preventer grabbed his arm. He was pale, Kurama noted, the bone would probably have to be reset. The damage would be even worse if they didn't--

Why was _Kuwabara_--

--Why did it look like Yuy was trying to swan dive into the abyss?

Kurama caught him and held onto the wall with sheer determination.

"What are you _doing_?"

"Better chance of surviving if we fall."

"What?"

Hands tried to grasp his hair; he shook them off and glared at the Preventer.

"Besides," Heero's smirk was minimalist in the faint light. "You survived it once already, didn't you?"

Kurama took a breath. _I hope you know what you're doing, Kuwabara._

"...All right," he said, stepping into nothingness, vines shrinking back into seeds, "but I'm saving _you_ this time."

When he fell he grabbed Yuy and twisted at the last moment, to put himself between the human and the ground.

* * *

# 22- cradle


End file.
